


The Pain Of Love

by star_named_andy



Category: The Hobbit (1977), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: BardXThranduil, Barduil - Freeform, Dark, Elf Culture & Customs, F/M, Fantasy, M/M, Middle Earth, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, Minor Violence, Original Universe, thranduilxbard
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 08:50:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4257078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_named_andy/pseuds/star_named_andy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When hearts are concerned, Prince Thranduil of Mirkwood finds that his own may be in danger in more ways than one as he forms a deadly attachment to a creature he meets in the woods. There is more to the creature, Bard, than his aggressive nature and the prince puts everything on the line for him, but how can he trust someone that devours hearts to take care of his own? Is love really so blind to make someone fall so deeply in love that their own safety is no longer a thought and that their life becomes a dangerous web of lies?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For BARDUIL WEEK! A week dedicated to our beloved pairing, Bard and Thranduil, with different themes every day. This was for the theme "Cultural Differences", and you will come to see how the theme comes into play later on. This fic will be posted in several chapters since it's getting quite lengthy; also I will add tags as things happen because more warnings will be needed. Enjoy, and check out barduilweek on tumblr to see amazing fanart and fanfiction!
> 
> (Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, or any of its characters or content.)

Everyone has a fate which they are destined to fulfill, a path that they are meant to follow, a role they must play in the wheel of life, all written in the unmovable stars. To some of Middle-Earth, this belief was bleak and restricting of one’s own will, but the elves of Middle-Earth felt otherwise. Their fates were blessings sent to them from the holy, omnipotent, and sacred Ilúvatar who created them. It was due to the elves’ loyalty to these designed destinies and Ilúvatar that there was order in their domains and it was regarded by all that if the other races obeyed such customs, that they too would achieve a greater level of being. Needless to say, the elf kind thought very highly of themselves and their way of living.

The Mirkwood elves were perhaps the most devout when it came to upholding this value of elven culture, being isolated from the rest world than the elves of Rivendell or Lothlórien, causing them to center their attention on themselves and cling to their ancient traditions. The Mirkwood elves had seen plenty of darkness in their time and worshipped all the stars had to offer, celebrating another day of brighter fortune than years past each night beneath the lights guarding them from the heavenly sky with song and dance.

On this particular eve, the occasion of their celebration was special, more so than any other occasion in the passing of many recent moons: the coming of age of the prince Thranduil.

The entirety of the daylight hours had been spent rejoicing by all in the kingdom as well, but now that darkness cloaked their part of the earth and the richest of all Ilúvatar’s treasures shined down on them with approval, the truest and merriest festivities would commence.

Another one of the creator’s crafted fates was unraveling a piece more this night, and Thranduil accepted it with grace and dignity, rather than the lighthearted foolishness he would have once preferred. He knew now that there was more expected of him from his people and his behaviors had to shift in order to suit a prince’s duty. Moving away from the innocent immaturity of an elfling and taking on a position of leadership and authority was simply a part of his life he knew he would always face. He was assigned such a sanctified life for a purpose, chosen by Ilúvatar…then why did he feel uneasy, he wondered? Surely such feeling was normal, he assured himself. Everyone, even his father the king, must have harbored nervousness when transitioning into the changes life presented at a given time, even if it was a change set to occur by the creator they revered. It was perfectly normal, yes. He nodded to himself, still uncertain of how normal his state of disquiet really was.

He was slender and stunning with young charm still lingering with him, especially in his cerulean hued eyes. His features were absolutely defined, making every angle in which he stood beautiful. His blonde hair was pale, as was his smooth complexion, just like his father’s. The only difference in their platinum tresses was that Oropher’s had subtle waves and Thranduil’s were pin straight. His hair fashioned into a long, intricate braid that laid over his shoulder and hung at his hip, decorated with flowers and threads of white gems. Though the prince was bothered having all of his hair tied back, he still wore the flowers that had been tucked securely into his hair earlier that day by the few elflings of the kingdom. He often enjoyed spending time with the young ones, hanging on to an earlier part of himself in their blithely games.

On his head was a simple silver circlet, one far plainer than the one he would be donned with soon; a new crown meant a new position in life. He hoped a new crown wouldn’t bring on a rush of suitors, all of which his father would evaluate and then eventually push him toward with sights set on marriage. It did not seem like something Oropher would do as a father, but as a king, perhaps. Thranduil was already admired by many for various reasons, including his attractiveness, and his mother had always warned him that when the time came, he would likely be swarmed with wooers. He certainly wasn’t ready for such an overwhelming and foreign experience. The newness of all that was forthcoming flustered him.

Though he was hesitant to make the leap into leadership and leave all else behind, he wished he could be firmer and more able to adjust to change without worry, like his father. He was so graceful, strong, suave, and stoic when the moment called for it. He truly made Thranduil proud in the way he carried himself and ruled the kingdom with ease.

Just as these thoughts of his father, the grand King Oropher, crossed his mind, his heart jumped. He would be seeing his father any minute now, along with his mother and all else in the kingdom. He would emerge, once he was given the signal that it was time, and make his way to his parents where he would be reborn, gifted a new crown under the view of and the stars and Ilúvatar.

Thranduil placed his hand over his chest, hoping by will alone that he could still the forceful beating of his heart. He had nothing to fear, yet he had everything to fear. This was the plan his creator had made for him, so was he meant to be so nervous?  Was this part of his path? Was every facet of his being controlled by Ilúvatar? It was hard to know – impossible, really. How much of their lives was molded by their creator? And what did Ilúvatar have waiting down his path? Would there be hardening trials and despair?

Yes, he told himself with a nod; there would be sorrowful times, but he had to trust that Ilúvatar would give him light and happiness as well. _He had to trust_. It was ingrained in his head that all his life was in the hands of Ilúvatar. He had to trust, or fear, and trust was a much more comfortable option.

He shoved off his analytical thoughts, not liking the displeasure that his examination of the being that held such importance in his culture brought on. Ilúvatar, like tradition, was not to be questioned…so everyone said. Thranduil was royalty, an embodiment of the values of Mirkwood. He, of all elves, could not question thing such as beliefs, but he had just then, he had before, and he feared he would again. Perhaps everyone had similar thoughts, and simply did not express them.

“My prince,” a soft voice rose, and Thranduil knew it was time.

He turned to the elf maiden who smiled very kindly at him. She always did, and he returned the gesture minimally, rising from his chair. He was well acquainted with her now, as she was one of his most frequent attendants. Indilwen, was her name. Her eyes were a fascinating green that reminded Thranduil of calm waters and her curls were an earthy color, lighter than dirt, but darker than the near whiteness of Thranduil’s hair. She gestured toward the opening of the tent and he glided forward. He paused as he stared out into the darkness and heard the sound of jovial voices and music. He had heard these very sounds before, but now they sounded different… _distant_ _and unfamiliar_.

They were all waiting for him. They would all stare.

“May I speak before you go, my prince?” Indilwen spoke and Thranduil tore his gaze from the blackness to look into her eyes.

“Always.” He replied.

“On this night, you do not lose any part of yourself that has lived within you all your years; you are simply building onto who you are as a being of this realm. Remember that you are Thranduil before you are a prince, and every good part of your soul will flow through the blood of these lands as long as you remember yourself.”

His smile grew wider with her words, as did hers as she saw just a glimmer of ease spark in him.

“I will try to follow your wise advice. If ever I forget, it is your duty to remind me of it.” He spoke.

“Of course.” She replied, and moved his braid, placing it so it laid flat down his back. “You’re ready, my prince.”

“My friend.” Thranduil corrected and a subtle pink colored her cheeks.

“You’re ready, my _friend_.”

Indilwen motioned to the elf men stationed outside the tent and with the signal, they blew on their horns. The noise crowd beyond the tent fizzled into silence. With a last deep breath and a smile to Indilwen, Thranduil left the safe shelter of the tent and moved on toward the next part of his fate that awaited him.

The night was still. There was only breathing and the dancing of the flames in the many fire pits that lit the field full of statuesque elves. They stood separated in two sections with a clear aisle in the middle meant for their prince which led to the tall chairs where the king and queen stood. A calm plucking of harp strings rose and a small chorus of angelic voices followed.

Thranduil descended from the hill where the tent resided languidly, having patience and poise in his strides. The fabric of his powder blue tunic glimmered, as did the rings on his fingers, the belt around his waist, and the jewels encrusted in his boots. The long train of the tunic dragged behind him over the grass like a cape.

As he passed row upon row of elves, he could hear their breathes of awe, but none of them dared to speak and pierce the sanctity of the moment. Their eyes followed him closely with every step he made until finally he reached his parents. The royal pair was a pristine vision clad in gold in Thranduil’s eyes and in the eyes of many others. The music faded and Oropher’s eyes were looking straight into Thranduil’s. Even with all of their fond memories, the prince felt he’d never been as close to his father as he was in this moment.

“Before Ilúvatar and the Valar, we brought a son, Thranduil, into this world.” Oropher spoke, his voice loud and commanding. “Now he stands before all no longer in the dawn of his life, but at the beginning of adulthood. This marks a monumental occurrence in the history of our kind, a ruler to be reaching his first adult year. The stars have blessed you for many years as they do on this night, and they will on and on for as long as immortal holds you, and they will even if your spirit should ever reach the afterlife. I thank Ilúvatar and the Valar for giving us the gift that is Thranduil. With this crown, you will rise and be delivered to glory through all of your days.”

Together, Oropher and the queen Miluiel, lifted the circlet that rested on Thranduil’s head and set it aside. The prince knelt and his eyes drifted to a velvet pillow where his new crown sat, and his decorum reminded him not to gape; it was made of fine wood, twisted and sharp with a line of diamond dusted silver wrapping around it’s every curve and point. There were even metallic leaves along the silver line. It was elegant and lovely beyond all reason. It was the most unique crown he had ever seen, and he had seen many, but none compared to this one. It was a symbol of regality, but more importantly, it was a symbol of the woodland home Thranduil loved so much.

_It was perfect._

He felt as if he were trembling as his mother and father lifted the beauteous headpiece and approached him with it. There was a pause as they stopped before him. He looked up at them and they were both smiling gently. His heart swelled with satisfaction and love; they were proud of him, and he could see it.

The crown was slowly lowered down onto his head, sitting on the back of it with it’s ends just reaching his temples. How strange it was to have the front space open unlike a circlet, but it felt wonderful.

“Rise, my son, and take your place among our people.” Oropher said and Thranduil swiftly obeyed.

He rose to his full height and turned to face the crowd. They were all grinning at him and broke out into inspiring jubilance. The music resumed, there was applause, and Thranduil felt himself light up with excitement. He felt much surer of himself and his part in Middle Earth now than before. This was who he was meant to be, a figure to the people to keep them safe and well, and he was more determined than ever to bring greatness to this land he called home that he shared with all the people that looked up to him.

 

-

 

After all ceremony had ceased and days had come and gone, Thranduil did not feel any different. As a person, he did not change. He still carried out his usual regal duties such as attending meetings and taking lessons in various subjects from academia to practice in fighting, and he also continued to do many of the things he had done before in regards to leisure, like visiting the elflings or the elf that grazed in the vast, lush valleys, going off into the forest, and dabbling in methods of healing (since this was a deep passion of his). He recognized that he felt very much the same as he did before his coming of adult age and noted too that Indilwen had been very right when she had said he would not be losing any part of himself he’d already developed, but instead growing onto those aspects of his being.  
He considered himself lucky to know her and have her counsel.

The only notable differences in himself, in Thranduil’s opinion, were the facts that he had much more confidence about his future authoritative role in the kingdom and that he simply could not part with his beautiful new crown.

All other circlets he had were strikingly made, but his new crown was incomparable in the prince’s eyes. This particular headpiece that earned his adoration had been made very special and it signified so much; it made him feel important, secure, close to heavenly bodies in spirit, and always tied to the forest.  He wore the crown everywhere, even in the depths of the wood with his hair  loose down his back.

He ventured out on his own this afternoon as he often did; he enjoyed delving into the thick of the trees with companions, but he much liked doing so alone to really feel a connect with the land and to do as he pleased. Others often held him back, saying certain things were dangerous, but he was an elf well able to take care of himself, and a prince and a skilled warrior, at that. Though Thranduil had yet to fight on the battlefield in his lifetime, his talent for fighting was easily shown in practice, where he could wield any weapon and move with fluidity and precision. The weapon he favored the most was the cold blade of a sword – duel swordsmanship was his specialty, and so he carried two on his back when wandering into the wood.

He strode about weaving in between the trees with no specific objective intended; he merely enjoyed the tranquility of the land and the beauty it supplied. On this day, the beauty remained as it always had been, but the tranquility had most certainly been disturbed…tainted, even, by something odd.

Thranduil knew the forest well enough to the point where he could feel it in the air when something was not right, but what was wrong, he did not know. Everything was too quiet to be normal. The birdsongs were hardly present, and as he went even further, they were absent entirely. There were now shuffling noises of animals scuffing about on the ground or in the trees, nor were there the buzzing sounds of insects humming to and fro. Where had they all gone? If they had fled for some reason, they would do so toward where the palace resided, yet Thranduil had not seen any rushing flocks of creatures flooding in that direction from which he came. If the forest dwellers had gone somewhere, they had done so long before Thranduil had stepped foot in the dense tree-line.

Suspicion and worry were brewing in his heart. He felt no threatening danger, but the atmosphere was eerie enough to make him wonder if there was something with dark intentions lingering somewhere amongst the greenery that surrounded him. He reached back and pulled his swords from his sheaths and held them guardedly at his sides as he pursued the mystery which hid from him.

He tread softer on the forest floor than before ever so cautiously, but was able to keep quick pace while his keen eyes scanned the land seemingly void of any life other than that of it’s plants. The only idea that rolled around in his head was that there could be intruders lurking about which may have scared off the animals, but it was highly unlikely that anyone would dare enter Mirkwood uninvited, unless they were incredibly stupid or held a death wish. The only creatures Thranduil would think would be dumb or miserable enough to do so were humans, but humans would not so easily frighten the beings of the forest; they were stronger and harsher than they seemed when it came to outsiders.

Thranduil’s ears tingled as a tiny sound prickled them; the noise was so small it would be undetectable to human ears, but it was not distant. He turned his head toward the source of the sound and veered in that direction, deftly climbing over rocks and large roots of enormous trees protruding from the ground. The sound became clearer with every step: low, shallow breathing and hoarse groans. The prince halted as something dripped in front of the toe of his boot. He knelt and examined the leaf of the bush from which the red droplet had fallen; the shrub was spattered with blood.

Thranduil rose with urgency and followed the sound and the trail of blood that grew thicker with every advancement he made. Finally a light brown colored heap sprouting small antlers came into a view. He recognized it immediately as an elk and rushed forward. He dropped to the ground and dropped his swords, his eyes running over the wounds in the animal’s side and neck.

“Stay calm, my friend.” He spoke quietly and ran the palm of his hand over the young elk’s head as it moaned in pain. He began to sing softly, preparing for the healing ritual as he analyzed the injuries.

The gashes were long and jagged, uncalculated and hurried. The muscle that had been torn open was cut unevenly, as if something had tried over and over to reach deep enough into the elk. This youngling had wandered far from the grazing fields, too far to be protected by any elders if attacked, but Thranduil could not think of a single creature that resided in the wood that would attack an elk. The most lethal beings of the forest, other than the elves, were bears, but there were not many and they did not roam in this area away from the freshwater where their food was, nor would they make such messy marks. Other than that, feisty little things like snakes, insects and rodents were the next to be feared. None of them were large enough to leave such an impact.

Thranduil concluded that the attacker was weak and desperate, given by the look of the claw marks, and also foreign to these lands.

He reached for the pouch hanging at his side to pull out his healing herbs, but before he could open it up, he felt the final sighing breath of the elk leave him and his body was still and lifeless. His song ceased. Thranduil had come too late to even heal the poor creature, gone from the world too soon. Whatever had wounded the elk had left its damage long ago before the prince had even neared the scene. He cursed himself for not making it to the elk sooner.

The prince stood before the corpse with his swords at the ready and traced the track of blood the predator had left behind in its escape with his eyes. He was determined to catch it and punish it for its evil deeds. His mission was clear: fate had brought him to the elk, and now it was fate’s design that he should balance the scales of justice and put the intruding beast to death. After the animal was avenged, Thranduil would return to the elk’s resting place and return him to the valley that was his home. First, another had to die in order to protect the rest of the forest dwellers from the murderous trespasser.

The pursuit was on. With boldness pulsating through him, Thranduil darted after the crimson trail as noiselessly as possible; if this were an ordinary creature that lacked heightened senses, they would never hear him coming.

He froze and caught his breath as he heard it; it was faint but he heard it for the split second that it lasted: _breathing_.

It only lasted a moment, but Thranduil was sure he’d heard it. There was no doubting it; it was low. Heavy, and hissing, drawing out in a sinister way before vanishing all together. It was also a sign, a sign that whatever it was was either so feeble that it was lazy and had let a breath loud enough for Thranduil to hear to escape, or it was toying with Thranduil and trying to scare him. This was surely the creature that mauled the elk, and the prince had the tingling feeling that it had detected him in some way by sight, smell, or sound. The elf hadn’t been careless in any way, so it was clear that what he was dealing with had keen senses.

He raised his swords and slowly began to turn, his eyes scanning everything within sight, but he shivered suddenly, uncontrollably, as he felt something disturbing weigh in the air. It felt like a strong energy that he could only describe as a… _smirk_.

Thranduil shuddered violently as a discordant, piercing sound rang in his ears and swirled around on the offense. It was short at first, but then it came again and again in bursts. The prince’s balance was wavering as the noise rattled his equilibrium with great force and he could not begin to try to pinpoint where it was coming from; it was all around him, not just in his ears. It swirled around him and he swiped his blade through the air incessantly, spinning and spinning endlessly and frantically. The sound was seeping into his brain, driving him quickly to a bewildering madness. He dropped to his knees as a cacophony of jumbled words packed his head, all in different frequencies. He started to quiver, writhe, and convulse helplessly, abandoning his swords. Everything in his mind was scrambling, his control of his own bodily function slipping away. His eyes shut and he wasn’t even certain if he was breathing.

A heaviness came crashing down onto him and the monsoon of noise was unbearably loud. Something was beating down on his chest, an aggressive knocking, and here was heat and the stink of gore radiating off of his captor. He felt hot liquid pouring onto his face and something in him snapped.

Thranduil’s arms flew up, his eyes still shut, and gripped whatever was above him. Something primitive inside of him had clicked on and was refusing to go down without a fight.

Thranduil squeezed with all the strength in his body, which was suddenly surging back to him. The liquid pouring onto him stopped, the overwhelming sound wavered, and the form that was on top of him reared upward, wiggling away from the prince’s grip. Thranduil’s eyes snapped open and he could not see much through the red veil of what he could now recognize as blood covering his face. What he could see, was a form that looked like that of a human or an elf.

The mass smashed back down onto him and Thranduil screamed as he felt something sharp digging through his clothes, his skin, his muscle, and between his ribs. The pain did not last long, for when he screamed, the noise cut off. Thranduil screamed again, as loud as he could, and he could feel the creature sitting on him twist and squirm in extreme discomfort.

His shoulders were grabbed as the sound and its owner grabbed his shoulders and slammed his head into the ground once, twice, three times, four times. Thranduil continued screaming and the predator’s power was faltering. When there was a moment where all he heard was his own voice, Thranduil sat up and managed to flip the creature onto its back. His knees went right to the attacker’s chest to keep them down and he wiped the blood dripping from his face and what he saw was startling beyond belief.

Before he could let himself stare, he slapped his hands over the being’s mouth, keeping the hideous noise from revealing itself again. Thranduil could see now that what he was dealing with was a male that was seemingly human, but clearly not given all that had just happened. His skin that wasn’t covered in the blood spewing from his mouth and his many wounds was freckled and bronze. His eyes were wide, panicking hazels sprinkled with specs of gold. His dark curls were long and matted, his worn face covered with patches of hair. He raised his hands and first tried to pull Thranduil’s hands away from his mouth, but quickly abandoned the effort to pound on Thranduil’s chest. He banged his fists at his chest relentlessly, and Thranduil could not stand a minute more of it.

“You must stop!” he commanded in the common language, and the man’s fists gripped the green cloth of his jerkin, hanging there weakly. The man, or whatever he was, was dying. That much was apparent by his many open wound and the blood gushing up from his throat. “Do not make that noise.” Thranduil warned, and let his hands fly away.

He leapt off of the creature, rolling him on his side as he choked and gagged, heaving and spitting out blood. The man’s torn shirt with puffy sleeves was once white, Thranduil guessed by the exposed patches that were untouched by crimson. The ends of his trousers were frayed, showing his scarred ankles, and he wore no shoes, his feet calloused. Thranduil brushed away the dark locks falling over the man’s face as he struggled for air, and saw more white scars around his neck. A prisoner.

Thranduil’s heart suddenly cried out and his body tensed. Perhaps he should have ended it right then for the poor man, but he didn’t, partly out of compassion and partly from curiosity. He needed to know what, exactly, this man was.

“Do not make that noise.” He spoke again as a precaution, hoping that would be enough to keep the sound at bay.

He opened the pouch resting on his hips and lifted his healing leaves. He started with the most life threatening external wounds, sprinkling on the herbs and singing chants in his native tongue. The man beneath him stilled, still spitting out splurges of blood from time to time. Thranduil knew he was alive, though his breathing was thin.

He turned the man to get to his other wounds and the man stared at him with tired eyes. The prince ignored him, working quickly to stop any further bleeding. After enough times of reaching into his pouch of herbs, they had all been used. He was unable to fix every scrap, but for now, what progress he’d made may be enough to keep the man alive until he could get him back to Mirkwood, as long as the hurling up blood was minimal.

“Do you speak?” Thranduil questioned, again in the common tongue with eyes sharp. The brunette man gave a short nod. “And you understand. Can you speak now?” A lazy shake of the head. “I will bring you to my home where your wounds will be fully mended. If you wish to keep your life, you will not betray me.”

The man’s trembling hand raised and drifted onto Thranduil’s chest, pressed to where his heart beat in his body. He tapped once and then again before his hand fell away and his eyes closed.

 

-

 

Oropher’s eyes narrowed after a long, silent pause had passed between them and he rubbed a circle into the smooth arm of his throne chair where he sat casting an inquisitive look down on his son.

“You brought an unidentifiable creature inside the palace walls?” he questioned.

“Yes.” Thranduil affirmed, still feeling the strain in his back from carrying the wounded foreigner all the way through the wood and back to the palace where he had to argue for entry, but he had gotten in and ordered the creature be taken care of and healed to the fullest extent.

The king tilted his head before raising a brow.

“And what do you think of your actions, Thranduil?”

“They were necessary.” Thranduil answered all too quickly. “Pity washed over me. I could not kill him.”

“He harmed you.”

The dull pain in the prince’s bandaged sides throbbed, reminding him that what his father said was true and that there was value in his words.

“Pity could put more than just your own life in danger.” Oropher spoke again. “And you are aware of the law we uphold, concerning intruders…imprisonment.” Thranduil nodded.

“I made a decision. I accept all responsibility for whatever may follow, but I do ask you let me do the interrogating once the creature is able before he is taken to the dungeons. I wish to know why he is here, what he is.”

“As do I…I will trust your decision to bring him here; there is always purpose in the things we truly _feel_ we must do. You will interrogate him. I will approve of that, but you will have guards present, and you do no sentencing. Once the information you collect is relayed to me, I shall deliberate. The presence of this creature distills me. We are fortunate that he got no further with his lust for blood.”

Thranduil, with a nod of understanding, turned to make his exit off to where the man was being held, but he did not make it far before his father stopped him.

“Thranduil,”

The prince turned instantly, as if a chord had tugged on him and spun him back around.

“Yes?”

“Your heart is big and light; use caution more than compassion.”

“I shall heed your words, of course.”

“It is both an order and a father’s love.”

“I know.”

They exchanged smiles before the prince started winding down the suspended walkway away from the throne.

 

-

 

Some hours had passed since Thranduil had given the order to have the fallen elk moved to the valley. He spent his time in his private chambers in a fresh change of clothing, consumed by thought as he paced ceaselessly back and forth across the length of his quarters. His ears rang on and off. The healers had confirmed there was no injury to his head; he wondered if instead his ears had been damaged.

He had made a very large decision so hastily, but he did not have the time to waste in the moment and his actions had been true to how he felt. Had he made a mistake? Was it curiosity that got the best of him? Should he have been merciless instead of forgiving? What would his father have done? He wished he would have asked, but he did not want his father to see his struggle.

If the creature proved to be a threat after interrogation, surely Oropher would cast proper judgement and have him imprisoned, disposed of, or killed. The man had to be sentenced for his crimes, yes, so Thranduil decided had done the right thing. It would have been wrong of him to murder if given the chance to help the man and bring him back to the palace to be tried for his crimes.

The prince moved toward his coming of age crown, now clean and free of any spots of blood. It’s making had not been weakened when he had his had thrashed into the ground repeatedly, and he was thankful his precious gift hadn’t been ruined. He was more thankful for his own health, though the horrifying and immobilizing noise that the man had made would never stop haunting his mind.

What kind of creature looked like a human and made such unearthly sounds? And where did he come from?

His body was left still as his thoughts of the stranger meandered on, but he was brought from his thoughtful trance as a knock thudded softly on his doors.

“It’s Indilwen, my prince.” The familiar voice brought relief and a smile to Thranduil’s face.

He approached the door and opened it, allowing his friend to enter and take a seat in one of his chairs. Though she was hesitant to sit in comfort with the prince, she answered his kind gesture.

“Indilwen; it is such a pleasure to see a kind face after such a strange day.” He said and strode across the large room to the fire crackling low in the hearth. He lifted the kettle hanging over it gingerly. “I was about to enjoy a berry tea. Would you like some as well?”

“No thank you, my pri-” Thranduil shot her a look that stopped her immediately. He was at first stern (jokingly so), and then smirked, raising his eyebrows and rousing a laugh from her.

“Again, with the ‘ _my prince’_.” Thranduil remarked, shaking his head as he poured himself a steaming cup of tea.

“I know. Forgive me, _my friend_. It is not exactly something I am used to calling you.”

“In time. And then after that, perhaps you will even call me by my name.” Thranduil mused as he sat across from her. The prince felt comfortable with few people and only very much so with one person, and that was the maiden sitting with him in his personal quarters. She was kind, clever, witty, beautiful, and most of all, trustworthy; what more reason did Thranduil need to admire her? She seemed stiff, unsure if her duties permitted her to be so cozy with the prince and it made Thranduil smile. “It is my order that you sit here and let me enjoy your company, if you are so worried.”

“I think it amuses you to bend the boundaries of my position as your attendant.” She said with playful knowingness in her tone.

“Friend first, attendant second. Follow your own advice – remember? _Thranduil first, prince second_. It’s the same thing, really.” He smiled at her with his eyes as he drank from his cup.

“How are you fairing?” she asked.

“By general means, or pertaining to today’s incident?”

“Both.”

“Not well twice over.” He admitted with a sigh which was followed by a minimal chuckle. “This is all confusing business. I’ve made my first big decision as an adult elf, a prince of age, and I’m not sure how things will turn out. If this turns into a sour mistake, surely no one will ever forget.”

“I have faith in your choice.”

“Do you?” he asked interestedly and she nodded, her expression calm and genuine.

“Kindness does not always make a mistake. We can afford more of that around here.”

“Do you call my father cold?” Thranduil teased and she rolled her eyes with a laugh.

“Now you’re just _trying_ to get me in trouble.”

“I mean it sincerely. Do you think he is cold?”

“Not always. He is not always cold to his family, but when it comes to ruling matters, every move is made with ruthlessness and stoicism…you are a light in the kingdom with your passion; you are always lovely, unless given a reason not to be. I hope the future does not give you many of those reasons. I hope you always hold that part of yourself that offers sympathy.”

“We will see what the Valar has planned.” Thranduil said, but as soon as the words left his tongue, he furrowed his brows as his secret skepticism of the validity of destiny reappeared. The high of having his coming of age celebration had blocked such thoughts from pestering his mind, but they always found a way back in.

“Not everything is molded by the Valar.” Indilwen said and Thranduil looked at her with surprise reading clear in his gaze. “We are beings with the power of consciousness and morality. We were given those powers to utilize them on our own, not to let others utilize them for us. I believe the creators have many fates crafted for us, but the choices we make just determine which one we end up in.”

Thranduil was amazed to hear such things from her. The words she spoke gave him reassurance that his doubtful thoughts perhaps were not entirely sinful and maybe there was more to one’s life in elven culture than simply acting as a puppet being dragged along certain lines with no option to do otherwise. He was still uncertain of his feelings regarding fate, but the idea of there being more than one path for everyone was better than the strict tradition always hanging over his shoulder.

The expression he held was enough for Indilwen to know that her words had been somewhat soothing, for she did not look nervous or uncomfortable in making the statement she did. If she thought she’d offended the prince, she surely wouldn’t have shown it with a warm smile.

“I did come to see if you were alright, but also to deliver news that the creature has been released from the healers and has been placed in solitary containment.” She said.

“Was there any trouble?” Thranduil questioned.

“Quite so; a petrifying noise that brought most of those in the palace to its knees, to be exact.”

The ringing of the ears Thranduil had experienced suddenly made more sense. He must have been able to hear the sound as the man unleashed it, even from a distance, but only subtly.

“Did he speak to anyone?” Thranduil asked as he stood.

“No. He would not speak. He only screeched. Is he able to speak with words?”

“Yes, and I’ll be hearing many coming from him soon, no matter what lengths I have to go to. Many explanations are needed. My friend, I must cut our visiting time short, for I have a criminal to interrogate.”

He lifted his crown and slipped it on before walking Indilwen to the doorway where they would split.

“Best of luck to you, my friend.” She said.

“You’re getting there.” Thranduil smiled, and they parted ways, both thinking of each other as they did so.

 

-

 

The lower Thranduil went into the depths of the dungeons, the colder the air became. It was not a place meant for comfort.

The prince had not been to the dungeons many times, for there was really no reason for him to be there and he was glad for it. He did not fear this part of the palace, but certainly did not favor it. Anyone who enjoyed being around the forlorn wailing of prisoners was either deranged or had a sick pleasure for justice.

He walked far down the spiraling stairway, every step he took sending echoes ringing off of the walls, until he finally reached the very bottom level where it was most quiet. A pair of solid, tall, and thick iron doors with two armed and suited guards on standby were what kept the unnamed marauder sealed away.

“He has been muzzled, my prince.” The left guard spoke up and Thranduil nodded. He looked at the locks pointedly before giving the order.

“Open it.”

The guards both turned in synchronization, facing each other. They both pulled a piece of metal from a pocket within their cloaks which made to keep them warm in the chill, but comfortable enough for fighting if an altercation ever arose. They joined the pieces of metal, hooking them together, and a key was formed. The prince was impressed by this, never seeing a contraption like it, even in the cases of the worst inmates they confined.  He took note of it and tucked the image of the fascinating key in the back of his mind.

One took the key and tapped a crack in the rock-like wall in a specific pattern. The crack split even further open and the prince’s eyes widened. Elves were magical and it was no secret, but he was sometimes amazed at just how many magical secrets his home possessed. Once the split had opened further, a keyhole was shown. The guard stuck the jagged end of the key inside, turned it, triggering a large clicking sound. A section of the floor slid open smoothly and an ancient looking lever rose from the small compartment. Both of the guards joined then, each taking hold of the lever and yanking it down forcefully. The lever released the locking mechanisms of the steel doors and the clicked open one by one. Once all undone, the guards stood before the doors with weapons ready to act and pushed open only one of the doors. It creaked as it swung slowly, and one of the guards stepped in before Thranduil was given the signal that he could now enter the cell.

The prince slid inside with the last guard remaining outside. The door slammed shut behind him.

The iron doors were apparently not the only barrier keeping the creature back, for there was a row of bars that separated him from the prince and the elf. As Thranduil stepped closer, he could see the muzzle which the guard had mentioned and could also see that the man’s arms were raised, his wrists cuffed and chained to the wall. The wounds of the alien creature were healed, but he still wore his own clothing, ripped and stained so badly that they were practically useless. He was motionless (only his chest moved calmly with the in and out of breath) with his back against the wall and his eyes sharply focused on the prince. The prince stared back directly.

“On, then.” Thranduil said to the guard. When he was given an uncertain look and a pause of quiet, the prince looked at the guard expectantly. “He cannot answer my questions if he is unable to speak. The muzzle must be removed.”

“Yes, my prince.” The guard answered quickly and stepped forward.

He worked swiftly to unlock the section of the bars that served as a door with a singular, small key on a ring from his cloak. Once opened the guard strode inside the beast’s domain and carefully removed the muzzle from the man’s mouth. He took a few steps back away from the creature and then gestured for the prince to pass in.

The blonde paced in with his chin high and his eyes never leaving the subject of his first ever interrogation. He eyed the man’s body with no hurry, satisfied that his every injury had been repaired.

“Feeling better?” Thranduil asked with gentle firmness, using the most common tongue of the realm.

The man shifted, his chains rattling. He kept his lips pressed tight together.

“What is your name?”

There was still silence, but this time he looked deliberately away from the prince and Thranduil furrowed his eyebrows.

“You made it clear to me that you are able to understand this language and that you can, in fact, speak. There is no excuse for your silence other than insolence. You have been mended, restored to full health; there is no reason you should exhibit such stubbornness when we ask for so little from you.”

“I owe you because you have done me the courtesy of keeping me alive, is that it?” the creature snapped back with hoarseness in his voice and his searing gaze darting back onto the prince. “I _wanted_ death. You’ve done nothing for me but extend my misery, fool. Even if you wanted to properly save my life, you haven’t. You _elves_ are of no use to me.”

“If we are of no use, why have you come to elven land?” Thranduil retorted.

“I suppose that’s a reasonable query; I’ve heard your folk are temperamental about borders. The rumors are true.” The gold shards in his eyes glittered in the torch light as his eyes trailed up and down the prince’s form until they settled back on his face. The brunette raised his brows and gave an appreciative nod. “ _All_ true, it seems.”

“You wanted to pursue a rumor, test our sensitivity to trespassing?”

“If you think that’s true, perhaps you are obviously not one of the smart ones of your kind.” The man said with a corner of his mouth curving, making a devious smile, but it was shockingly transparent.

Thranduil’s head drifted to a tilt as a strange sensation came over him…

A connection.

Their energies were drawn together, flicking at each other and nudging each other for answers. There was a want present in the prince, a desire to let everything flow from him to this man, this prisoner, and from this man to him in return.

Why?

The only explanation that Thranduil could think of was that whatever secret was stirring inside the other was hungering to reveal itself. That was just what the prince wanted, and badly. He wanted to help him.

The man’s body gave an entirely different message than his fading smile, as did his eyes: this creature was not smug by any means and the prince knew it. Thranduil could feel, sense, that beneath the rugged surface of the enigmatic brunette. The creature was tired and could not properly hide all that was within him, all that was pure and desperate. There was something tender shielded behind the broken, defensive façade that was failing him and Thranduil would bring it to light.

“Why do you stare at me like that?” the creature asked, his smile vanishing and his expression turning to one of distaste.

He recognized it too, then. The prince was sure he did.

 “What is your name?” he asked with a soft smile of intrigue and the man’s brows fixed in a confused fashion.

A pause.

“I am called nothing.”

“I am not asking about your monster title, I am asking for your _name_. Surely you must have a name. Mine is Thranduil.”

“What does it matter?”

“One’s name is more than their title. A name is truth.”

The slight interest in the man’s eyes was washed away and overcome with darkness.

“I left my name behind because it holds no truth to me anymore. Let me go or at least leave me alone.” He said lowly with a growl rumbling low in his throat. The prince remained unfazed, his smile flattening.

“There is no reason to be cold. I’m simply an agent, here to assist you. I can grant you your freedom, _if_ you tell me what I need to know. Why did you cross into elven land?”

“Because I wanted to die in peace and had nowhere else to go. You’re so stiff that you couldn’t have just shoved my body off into the river when I was through? If you really don’t want me here, let me go and I’ll leave gladly.”

“I do not make deals with liars.”

“You ask me for answers, I answer. I give you answers, you tell me they’re lies. You truly are useless. Was everyone else too busy to come interview me that they had to send little, incompetent _you?_ _Thranduil?_ ”

“You wanted to die, yet you took the life of an innocent, young elk? There is no logic in that, therefore I conclude that some part of what you are saying must be a lie.”

“I didn’t kill it.”

“The wounds you left did.”

“IT WASN’T MY CHOICE!” the man lashed, lunging toward the prince, but he was immediately pulled back by the chain.

Thranduil’s heart was hammering hard in his chest, but he hadn’t flinched. He knew he was perfectly safe. The invisible chord between them shook, electrified. The concept of choice was clearly important to solving this mystery.

“If I had a choice, that wouldn’t have been it.” He snarled.

“Whose choice was it, then?”

“What’s my business is my own and I’m not obligated to share it with anyone.”

“That’s right. You are not obligated, but it would be wise of you to share, given the position you are in.”

“I am interested in your case. If you decide to comply further, you may just get what you are seeking.” Thranduil spoke.

“You do not know what I seek. I seek many things, none of which you would ever give me.”

“Until then. I will wait.” Thranduil said and spun on his heel, heading for the exit. Nothing more would come from the man as long as he was set in his ways. Time alone would break down his walls.

“Fine, but you will never get anything from me.” The creature spoke with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Leave me here and I will die. Perhaps you will give me what I want after all.”

“Food and drink will be provided to you.” Thranduil replied easily.

“Doesn’t matter.” The man shot back calmly – so calmly, that it brought the prince to a halt. “ _Ha_.”

There was something Thranduil was missing. He could leave and ignore the brunette completely, let him suffer, but what if the man truly would die, even with food and water? Was there something else that this creature needed to stay alive, or was he bluffing?...No. He was not bluffing, not at all! A light sparked in the prince’s head then and he turned sharply toward the man, who was caught off guard by the blonde’s sudden direct eye contact.

“You really want the cold touch of death to brush you?” Thranduil asked.

“Not to _brush_ me. I want it to _swallow me whole_.”

“Tell me what it is that keeps you alive.” The blonde demanded and the creature gave a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes before resting his head on the wall away from the prince.

“You’re relentless and boring.” He began dryly. “I won’t tell you. You can either torture me to death or leave me alone in hopes of an answer, but you will lose. There is no way you can win this from me.”

“Unless I’ve already won.”

That earned the creature’s attention, his gaze swimming with doubt and concern falling back on the prince. Thranduil left the cell without another word and ascended back into the lighter, warmer, and friendlier parts of the palace.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When hearts are concerned, Prince Thranduil of Mirkwood finds that his own may be in danger in more ways than one as he forms a deadly attachment to a creature he meets in the woods. There is more to the creature, Bard, than his aggressive nature and the prince puts everything on the line for him, but how can he trust someone that devours hearts to take care of his own? Is love really so blind to make someone fall so deeply in love that their own safety is no longer a thought and that their life becomes a dangerous web of lies?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, or any of its characters or content.)

 The prince was nervous to his very core. He had gained advantage in the ordeal with the unyielding human-like creature in discovering his biggest secret…or, he thought he discovered it. He was oh so certain that he had, but it was a frightening discovery that brought clarity to the situation, and so he had a twinge of skepticism about such a revelation. He wanted it not to be true for how horrifying of an idea it was, but he also wanted it to be true so that he may really have the upper-hand against the creature.

Inside, he couldn’t believe he wanted such a wicked thing to be true.

Was he to give his conclusions to his father? Could he lie if he wanted to? Would omitting out any details of his thoughts be considered lying? Would Oropher even believe what he had to say? Should he act upon the information himself? His father would soon expect the results of the interrogation, so Thranduil had to quickly make a decision.

Adult hood hadn’t failed him yet, for it was sending him plenty of scenarios he had to deliberate on. Was he really fit for a life of decision making? Was it ever hard on Oropher, he wondered, or had he gotten used to it? Had it ever bothered him at all?

He felt insecure all over again, just like he had a few days ago. Just like he had his whole life.

How was he supposed to fit into the life he’d been given if he was always doubtful?

He lifted his circlet from his head and stared at it blankly. Was he really meant to have it and his life as a royal, or was destiny a joke, a myth? Maybe he did belong and would turn out to be one of the many poor rulers Middle Earth had seen, but that was not what he wanted. Did he have any control at all?

He sunk onto his plush bed that provided him false comfort and tapped the crown against his forehead, wishing some inspiration would strike him. What to do, what to do…he dreaded what to do. Most of all, he feared what he was considering doing; it made his stomach churn and his heart beat as fast as that of a hummingbird. If he thought he’d been uneasy about his celebration of adulthood, this was nothing compared to what he felt that day. At least then there was brightness at the end of that part of his path.

Thranduil had a strong craving to get those answers and was convinced he had to get them. He wanted to feed the mouth that bit him, give the creature what he needed to survive in order to unravel the many unsolved mysteries that gnawed on his brain. He wanted it all, but what he would have to do in order to get it was evil.

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

But he was persistent.

He shoved his anxieties into a shadowy area of his mind to leave them forgotten for a while longer. Now was not the time to sulk. Now was the time for action. He placed his circlet back on his head, took in a deep breath, and left his chambers to find his father.

As he opened his doors, he stopped abruptly when he saw something small hovering there in front of him at his feet. The little something gasped, wide eyed and surprised as it was caught. The little something was little indeed; an elfling, in fact. Thranduil smiled down at him.

“What are you doing, Feren?” the prince asked.

Feren stood up straight from his crouched position, his light brown hair slipping over his shoulder. He twirled a single flower between his fingers before looking up at the prince shyly.

“I’m sorry, Thranduil. I wasn’t trying to spy.” He said in his tiny voice. Thranduil’s form relaxed, joy overtaking him for the moment as the elfling called him by his name. If only Indilwen would do the same.

“Of course not. What is it you have there?” Thranduil questioned and he kneeled. As he looked at the flower more closely, he knew just what it was, but he wouldn’t spoil the tale for Feren.

“It’s a healing flower and I picked it just for you. I heard you were hurt, so I wanted to give this to you so you’d feel better, but you’re already healed though…”

“Ah, you’re ten steps ahead of me, my dear friend! This flower will come in handy.” Thranduil said taking the flower by its stem gently and Feren quirked a brow at him.

“But you are healed, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am, but I’m always getting into trouble, you know. Always getting hurt. I’ll need this. Thank you for this wonderful gift.”

“You’re welcome, Thranduil!” Feren exclaimed happily, a giggle rising from him and a blush dusting his apple cheeks. “Can I ask you a question? You must swear not to tell anyone.”

“I am sworn to secrecy, on my honor.”

“Alright…” Feren peeked around before leaning closer to Thranduil’s ear and whispering. “Do you ever wonder what it’s like to _hug_ someone?”

The prince blinked, surprised to hear such an inquiry from the elfling, but an honest smile curved his lips.

“Yes, I have.” He answered and Feren gaped at him.

“ _Really?_ ”

“Really. It is something I’ve thought about.”

“Sometimes I feel like I want to give people hugs, but I know it’s not something we do. I don’t know if it’s something we’re not _supposed_ to do; we just don’t.”

“Well, I don’t see anything wrong with giving or getting hugs.”

Thranduil gasped slightly as Feren fell onto him and wrapped his short arms as far around him as they could reach. It was different – warm and pure. The elfling squeezed him tightly and the prince felt vulnerable, yet secure, which was a rather odd thing to feel from an elfling, but Thranduil held him. Feren surely felt the same way and it was unique and incredible. He couldn’t imagine why elves wouldn’t share such an experience with each other. Perhaps it was because elves were far too comfortable refraining from any form of intimacy, whether it was with family, friends, or mates. What strange things, rules and traditions were, especially when no one knew why they existed.

The embrace ended and Feren’s face was nothing but red. Thranduil offered a sweet smile.

“It is always alright to ask questions and try new things, Feren. Remember that.”

“I will!” Feren said and ran off spryly.

 

-

 

Tracking someone down in a palace was no easy task. Lucky for Thranduil, if he didn’t find his father in the throne room first, he knew just where to look next. His intuition had been correct, for Oropher stood within view as Thranduil reached the heart of the excessive garden at the rear of the palace. He had the company of Thranduil’s mother and they walked beside each other speaking words that Thranduil could not make out from his distance.

There a pretty picture, two beautiful elves in love surrounded by a bounty of colored flora. It showed clearly on their faces when they looked at each other and it made Thranduil glad to know that they were so happy and that he was made from that happiness. They were both loving to each other and to him, their son. Thranduil had perfect parents, a perfect life. It terrified him to think anything could ever happen to disrupt their utopic bliss. There were always possibilities. His grandfather had died in war, after all, and his grandmother passed soon after from sadness alone.

The prince scolded himself for ever complaining. He had everything he could ever want then and there, but it was hard not to carp about certain things in his life. He was always with himself, always with his thoughts, and they were very tricky creations that sent him into deep states of distrust of the world. He suspected that others had his same doubts, perhaps Indilwen or Feren – they had raised points that he himself thought of, but never vocalized for fear of being shunned for doing so. Even with evidence that there were others that shared his troubles, he was a _prince_. Could a prince afford to suffer from such internal conflict?

“Thranduil,” a soothing voice called and the prince’s raised his head, shaking himself from his trance and meeting the gaze of his fair mother. She invited him closer with her smiling lips and a beckoning hand.

He swiftly met them with knots in his stomach. Miluiel noticed straight away, her expression turning to one of worry.

“Thranduil, my star, what is wrong? You do not look well.” She spoke.

“Did something happen during the interrogation?” Oropher asked, his tone hitting that deep one of concern that the prince knew very well.

“Nothing happened out of the normal.” Thranduil answered. “Nothing is wrong I’m simply…the information I’ve gathered is not pleasant.”

“What did you find out?”

“Few things, but they are important things. I still do not yet know what the creature is, exactly, but I do know some about his identity and what his intentions within our borders was. I do not know who, what, or where he was running from, but he was running from something. He ended up here, seeking a final resting place.”

“He welcomed death.” Oropher commented with a nod.

“Yes. He still does; he has made that very clear. He detests us for healing him, in fact.”

“That is what we get for our generosity.” The king scoffed, but the queen interjected.

“He must have been suffering.”

“But he does not suffer now. He has been mended.”

“Physically. There may be wounds invisible to us, Oropher.”

“I believe that’s so, mother. I can feel it is so.” Thranduil added quickly. “But also, he left the elk in the forest with fatal injury and he attacked me. He said it was not his choice to hurt the elk, which leads me to believe perhaps he is a cursed being, under a spell or derived from dark origins. From what he said to me and what transpired in the wood…”

“Yes?” Oropher pressed.

Thranduil had to hesitate. The words would not surface.

“It’s alright, son.” His father spoke with a softer tone that nudged Thranduil toward confidence.

“If we want to keep him alive, we must give him something more than food and drink. There is something he needs desperately, and that something lead him to do what he has done.” The prince finally said and the king and queen exchanged an inquisitive look.

“And what is that?”

The prince’s chest stung where he remembered the man had touched him, _begged_ him.

“He needs a heart, father.” Thranduil choked out and Oropher’s eyes narrowed on him.

“The creature does not have a heart?”

“I don’t mean a heart of his own. I mean a heart to _consume_.”

“Is that…so?” Oropher drew out slowly, his expression unreadable. He looked as if he could be curious, offended, disbelieving, infuriated – a slew of things. The prince could not tell and it made him sick. He nodded in response, though he knew that his father was not really looking for an answer. “You’re certain of this?”

“He did not tell me so, but I am certain.” Thranduil managed.

“Very well. The repugnant creature will rot then.” The king declared simply and the prince’s face twisted with bewilderment, despite the fact that he predicted such an outcome. It stunned him even still. What his father said defied all he had sensed about the unfortunate creature – yes, _unfortunate_.

“You’ll let him die?” Thranduil inquired in awe.

“The world will be better off without the evil of such a filthy thing that feeds off of the life of others.”

“But that’s what he wants. We would be giving in, giving up.” Thranduil refuted and Oropher raised his brows, his sternness unmoving.

“And what would you do? Let him live? Steal someone’s life, rip it from their chest, and give it to one who does not even want it?”

“But he-”

“His instinct may tell him otherwise, but you said yourself the creature welcomes death. Then let him die.”

“That does not seem right. What if we could…help him?”

“How old is this creature, Thranduil?”

“I do not know.”

“Such a being that thrives from darkness is likely immortal. He has probably stalked the earth for years committing his crimes, and there is no helping anyone who is that far gone that they wish for death. Fate has brought him to us so we may end his terror and his plight. We helped him once by healing him, but he doesn’t want recovery. So, we may help him again and ease him into the afterlife. That is the only ‘help’ he will get from us.”

“You don’t understand. You said there is always purpose in the things we truly _feel_ , and there’s something that I feel, something _strong_ that tells me that death just is not the answer. How can that be wrong?”

“Do not let pity and compassion blind you. I’ve warned you of this.” Oropher said with irritancy appearing in his voice, but it did not stop Thranduil in his vibrant plea.

“It’s not my compassion that is speaking, it’s something else!”

“I do admire your adamancy, but you are wrong.”

“You cannot tell me that what I feel is wrong! You do not know what I feel! And why sign away on someone’s death wish just because they want it? Are we not better than that? We should not overlook this!”

“Your attachment to this creature is unsettling, Thranduil. I’ll hear no more of it.” Oropher said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“It’s not-”

“I have made my decision. You won’t near that creature again and it will decease. I must take my leave now. I am needed elsewhere.”

Oropher gave a last look in the eyes to his wife, saying his precious goodbye without any words. Their arms slid slowly apart and he moved past Thranduil without even looking at him.

The prince felt lower than ever.

“You know how he is when it comes to matters of the kingdom, Thranduil. Do not be upset with him.” Miluiel said as she stroked a silken plait of her son’s hair. “He loves you, my star. We both do.”

“I know I have your love, but now that I am of age, it is respect that I need.”

“This is the first matter you have had to deal with in your new adulthood; do not be discouraged that he has not followed your wishes. He is king, after all.”

“Then what use is my contribution?”

“It will help you grow to express your opinions. And you never know, he may just follow through with your jurisdictions one day, just not this day.”

 

-

 

When Thranduil left the palace that night, he only said to the guards stationed at the gates that he would return before sunrise.

The darkness was blacker than it had ever been, the stars brighter than they ever had shone. The prince traveled under the hood of his cloak and stepped hastily under every treetop and in every shadow; even still, he could not evade them. Ilúvatar and the Valar were watching him and approval was not something Thranduil was expecting from them.

He walked the length of the forest without the aid of an elk or decorated horse, for he could not afford to be recognized by anyone, and surely either steed of choice would have earned him unwanted attention. The prince did not stop for anything as he trekked all the way through the wood, and when he finally reached the riverside and saw the canoe he had planted there earlier waiting for him, his mind caught up with him.

Why was he doing this? Was he insane? What would his father do if he found out? Would the kingdom shun him if they ever knew? What if he had been mistaken and this wasn’t the way of keeping the siren-like man’s soul bound to the earth? _Why was he doing this?_

All he had to excuse his rashness was the memory of what came over him in the dungeon: the connection he had had with the malicious prisoner that eluded to there being more than just a vicious monster chained to the wall. Thranduil had considered crediting it all to his empathetic tendencies, but the idea would not click. It did not sit within him right, meaning it was wrong. The brief bond they shared and everything the prince felt through it was not a fabricated sensation designed by his kindly heart. Perhaps his heart had something to do with the startling link that formed between them, but there was something more powerful that pushed Thranduil to action. For once he had an unshakable belief in fate and that his mission in it now was to keep that an alive.

He settled in the canoe and paddled his way to the nearest domain of men, the city of Dale. Was this where the creature had come from, he wondered?

It was pathetic how easily the prince of the Mirkwood elves slipped into the city with a little coin to a guard or two. The ability to sway men so effortlessly worked to his advantage this night.

Thranduil traipsed about the streets of men with his keen eyes on the prowl for the ominous sign he needed to point him in the right direction. After how far he had come, he was hopeful that what he was looking for could be found. Somehow he imagined he would feel no relief if he returned home empty handed.

He took to the alleyways where men were silent as he passed; he, being the stranger, did not belong there and they knew so.

After weaving through a labyrinth of backstreets (it really was no challenge, seeing as his palace home was much more of a maze than this), he spotted a shady looking figure descend down into a shop tucked underground…perhaps there.

The tall prince ducked down inside the shifty venue and soon found he was in the right place upon seeing rows of jars filled with miscellaneous body parts on the shelves. This was not pleasant, not at all, but he remained composed – he had sniffed the place out for a reason, after all.

“Hey you,” a grumbling voice called and Thranduil turned his head toward the counter, knowing it was him that the clerk had addressed. “Can I help you with something?” His tone wreaked of suspicion.

“Yes.” Thranduil answered and approached the counter while keeping his face well hidden from the dim lights hovering there. “I am in need of a heart.”

“Yeah, what kind?”

The question struck the prince quiet for a moment; he hadn’t thought about _what kind_. With the clues he already gathered, he made a decision.

“Human.”

The wrinkled clerk leaned on the countertop and pressed his raised brow toward the hooded prince pointedly.

“And what would you be wantin’ that for?”

“Your job is to sell, not to question. I have more than enough to cover the expense.” Thranduil said and dropped a silken sack stuffed with coins in front of the man. The clerk’s hand crept forward and felt the contents of the bag with his palm. He then peeked inside and plucked out a coin. He held it up to the light, grinned, nodded, and then plopped it back into the sack.

“Would you like it in a jar, a box, or wrapping paper?” the clerk joked, his quality of voice far more jovial at the sight of money.

“A box will do just fine.”

The man hobbled away behind a curtain and Thranduil waited patiently, hearing the clinking of jars in the next room over. When the clerk remerged, he carried a wooden box in his hands which was latched shut. He placed it on the counter with a notable _thump_ and slid it toward the prince. The prince opened the top and peered inside to ensure he wasn’t being tricked – he surely wasn’t, for his order was lying there, pale and raw.

“Careful, now. There are some who may want it more than you do.”

“Like who?”

“Not a _who_ , but a _what_ , it is…you must be new to these parts. You’ve arrived at a poor time, I’ll tell ya. We just had ourselves a _monster_ here not too long ago, one that steals what you have there in that box.” The man spoke and tapped his bony finger on the wooden container. “With it’s bare hands, it plunges into living bodies and tears out the ticker. Never heard of anything like it in all my time. No one has. No one knows where it came from or what it is, only that it has an insatiable appetite for _beating hearts_. Thought it could sneak through here and grab some grub, but it wasn’t so sly. The royal guard only scraped it before it got away and crossed into elf territory. The elves ill have their way with it now, unless he evaded them as well. It may make his way back here, have it’s revenge. Better steer clear.”

“Thank you for the warning.” The prince said with a nod, turned, and left the shop of oddities with his purchase.

 

-

 

The box remained shielded inside of Thranduil’s cloak, his heart pounding enough for his heart and the dead one which he held in trembling hands. For some reason, the stranger was worth it all, or at least he felt that he was. He was not an _it_ , not a demon in the shell of a man as the clerk in Dale had treated him. He was a he, a being with a soul that needed help. _Thranduil’s help._ There was no turning back now as he stood before the iron doors that kept the brunette away from the rest of the world.

“The king has sentenced the creature to death. I shall escort him alone.” The prince said to the guards and the two elves exchanged wary gazes.

“We offer our presence in leading the prisoner above to execution, my prince.” One spoke on behalf of them both. Thranduil simply stretched his hand out from his cape, palm open.

“Alone. This is my task. I will need the respective keys.”

The guards did not hesitate any further, turning over the barred door, muzzle, and chain keys before unlocking the iron doors once more by elaborate means and allowing Thranduil entrance. The open door closed behind him as he motioned for it. Only the bars separated them now.

The prince found himself hurrying to the bars to unlock the door, as he saw the drooping figure hanging from the chains inside. There was weakness, a spirit failing in the fight to hang on. The man’s face was completely drained, his tan complexion sicklier than it had looked before, and his eyes hazed with defeat. The brunette did not so much as move as Thranduil neared him, _so near_. Without warning, he released the man from the muzzle and let it drop to the floor. He couldn’t say anything for a time as his fingers traced over the edges of the box yet to be shown.

“Do you enjoy watching destiny do its work?” the man spoke up in a breath of exhaustion. Thranduil hadn’t expected him to speak first, or mention destiny, of all things.

“Destiny?” the blonde questioned.

“I am meant to end this way, meant to suffer until my last moment. The world must be balanced with good and bad, right? I am blessed to be part of the bad that will balance the scales.”

“You believe in destiny?”

“Not so much. Destiny is a fool’s idea, one made up to excuse the troubles of the world. ‘ _It was predetermined’_. That’s shit and it would be shit for anyone to believe that they were _supposed_ to be the way they are…us _bad_ folk, anyway. No one wants to believe they were made to be scum. I believe in shit luck and shit people, all of which have landed me here.”

“You regret it?”

“I regret many things. Does it matter?”

“It does.”

“Perhaps if I were in a better mood, this chit chat would be nice, but I’m not, so it isn’t. If you’ve come to torment or kill me, do it quick. Don’t make me beg. Leave me with the fragment of dignity I have left; that is a request, not a plea.”

“I am not here for either of those things.”

“What do you want, then? More questioning, I assume. You’re wasting your time…not that it matters. You’ve got eternity to waste.”

“A wise friend of mine once said there are many fates designed for us and the choices we make determine which one we are placed in…I have made a decision. Though I do not know where this decision will place me, it is final.”

The prince freed the man from his chains and he collapsed with no effort to stay standing. Thranduil swiftly stuck out an arm to catch him and lowered him to the floor. The man groaned, lifting his arms weakly to scan the red rings that had been left on his wrists before his gaze shifted to the elf prince who held him. He shoved against him, but sighed as he was reminded of his lack of strength.

“If you plan to have your way with me, I’m sorry I won’t be much fun in this condition. So much for dignity.”

How foreign it was to hear another speak of intimacy so bluntly, but Thranduil couldn’t be bothered. His full attention was on the _connection_. It was there again. He hadn’t been wrong. Every doubt about the deed he’d done was suddenly soothed as he knew that this man _wanted_ to live, and not just breathe – _live_.

Thranduil lowered his hood and the man’s expression bloomed into something of awe as they looked each other in the eyes.  Thranduil felt the man’s body relax under his touch. Why the prince still held his prisoner, he did not know. Even if the man were not a prisoner and merely a normal man or an elf, it would be strange still to touch someone in this manner, unless that someone was a mate…but it felt right to hold the crumbling pieces of this man together with his arms.

“Stop using your elf magic on me.” The brunette murmured and Thranduil’s heart swelled.

_He felt it._

“I am not using any magic.”

“Then why…never mind. Enough of this; let me go. I do not want my last memory to be being held by some…elf.”

“Is it a bad thing?”

“Now your questions just aren’t making sense! You’re making my head spin…I don’t have the energy for this.”

“If you are truly dying, will you at least give me your name? Let someone remember you for who you really are.”

“Who I really am?” the man scoffed.

“For who you wanted to be.”

“Wanted to be? Ha, fine...an archer. That’s all I wanted to be; a simple guy, a fisherman, an archer, a son, a friend…maybe something more, too. I’d just be _Bard_.”

“Take this, Bard.” The prince said, whipping the box from it’s hiding place and flaunting it in the man’s face before setting it down on the floor and leaving him gently there with it. Thranduil stood and took a few steps back, watching closely.

“A parting gift? How thoughtful.” Bard mused as he eyed the box.

“There’s no more time for words now. Just hurry and take it so we can both walk out of here.”

“ _Out?_ Out where? What are you talking about? My beheading?”

“No; just trust me and open the box.”

“Why, what is it?”

Bard’s finger slid the box closer, flipped the latch, and propped open the lid. He sat up as much as he could with a grunt of struggle and when he finally looked down and spied the box’s contents, his eyes went wide. They shot right up onto Thranduil and the prince found himself frozen. Something in the man’s eyes had changed dramatically and the link between them shook violently before it snapped.

Bard lifted himself further, fire burning in his gaze, and slammed the box shut. He flipped it with his hands and sent it flying toward the prince. It fell at his feet and Thranduil quickly lifted it with his brows furrowed. What was wrong? He didn’t understand. Was this creature, Bard, so stubborn that he wouldn’t take a grab at life when it was within his reach?

When Thranduil went to shoot his glower at Bard, he was taken aback to see the brunette instantly charged with energy and rushing toward him. In less than a blink, Thranduil was pushed against the wall and the box was smacked out of his hands. The prince stayed still, his glare unwavering despite his absolute fear as Bard snarled so close to his face that their noses were almost brushing.

“ _What the fuck kind of sick game are you trying to play here?_ ”

He swiftly whipped around and fell to his knees, his trembling hand staying up behind him as a sign for the elf to stay away.

“D-Don’t! Don’t come near me!”

“Take it, you need it!” the prince retorted as he lifted the box and took a brave step forward, but he halted cold as Bard’s head spun and landed his dazzling and terrifying eyes on him. His quivering hand cut through the air and pointed at the muzzle.

“Put the box down…and get that… _now_.”

Thranduil did not waste time asking questions and set the box back down. He moved across the cell and just as he crouched to snatch up the muzzle in his hand, Bard flopped onto his side with a strained hiss sliding through his clenched teeth. He thrashed onto his other side, his darkening eyes set on the wooden box. He rose to all fours with a grunt slicing through a rumbling growl. He slumped to the floor abruptly and reached for the box, but grabbed his arm with his other hand, fighting himself. He rolled onto his back and his panic-stricken gaze focused on the blankness of the ceiling. His breath quickened, his head convulsed aggressively, and a muffled scream stayed in his throat. He banged his head down onto the floor and tightened his hands around his neck, squeezing instantly so hard that his face turned beat red.

The prince sped to him and lifted the brunette onto his lap. He secured the muzzle onto him and locked it, but that didn’t stop Bard’s suffering. He whined through the restrain of the muzzle and dragged a hand over Thranduil’s chest before it shuddered away and twisted itself into his own knotted curls.

Thranduil’s mind was racing, utterly distraught. He was so sure that he’d done something right, but instead it was wrong, horrible. Asking questions would give him no benefit. He’d have to play it off.

“Try to keep together. I will get you out of here.” He said, but first tucked the box back into his cloak before helping the staggering man to his feet.

The prince had to practically drag Bard from the cell and the guards swarmed him with worry, offering to give their assistance, but Thranduil refused and managed to get away without them.

 

-

 

Bard fought relentlessly, even as Thranduil snuck them out of the palace and hauled Bard into the forest. The prince had figured fatigue would have claimed the man and end his suppressed cries or flailing, but that time did not come, even as they reached the far end of the wood. In a way, it was a good thing that he was still fighting.

Once far enough from the palace, the prince stopped and moved the man from his back and onto the ground with care. He heaved a sigh of relief as the weight vanished, but he was still at unease from Bard’s state.

Thranduil shouted as Bard jumped on him in the dark and pushed the air out of him as his back hit the ground. This man was frequently testing his skills, sometimes even putting them to shame.

Bard’s features sharpened in the obscure blackness as Thranduil focused. He had to stay on his toes, remembering that even though he felt something deep for this man, he was also unstable and unpredictable. That much was clear as the brunette clutched his hand onto the prince’s chest, digging his nails in through his fine clothing, and trying to rip off his muzzle.

How was Bard even still functioning at this point, Thranduil wondered? The “gift” the prince had given must have woken something in him that took over his once pathetically weak form, willing him to battle Thranduil…why _that_ was the thing that Bard was driven to do, Thranduil had no idea. His strength was immense, but Thranduil was strong too, and likely had more wits about him than Bard did.

“Stop! STOP!” the prince yelled, not wanting to hurt Bard if he could avoid it. Unfortunately, it seemed it couldn’t be avoided – the claws ripping into his chest told him so.

He swiped his hand against Bard’s neck and threw him onto the ground, turning the tables and switching power into his own hands. He situated himself so his knees pinned the man’s shoulders down, his arms unable to move. He held the brunette down by the neck, pressing, pressing…

_Ilúvatar, what was he supposed to do?_

Bard grabbed at his sides hard and deep enough to make Thranduil grumble and wince from the pain. He squeezed harder until the sound of Bard’s choking startled him and he released him; he wanted to knock him out, not kill him, but Thranduil wasn’t certain he could restrain himself if the man kept hurting him. The man swung his fist, but the prince caught it and twisted it to the point of extreme discomfort, but not any long lasting damage would be left. Bard squirmed beneath him and bucked his hips in protest. He tried his other fist again, which was a mistake on his part, for the elf caught him again and twisted that one even further.

“You cannot best me. Give up. I cannot help you if you fight me like this. I don’t know what you need – you mustn’t make that noise if I take the muzzle away.”

Bard shook his head vigorously in disagreement.

“What if I scream? Will that stop it?”

He shook his head again, but slower, more unsure.

“What if I try?”

Another insistent head shaking.

“Then what am I supposed to do?”

There was no answer. Thranduil couldn’t expect a proper response as to what he was supposed to do if Bard couldn’t speak.

“I’m going to take the muzzle off and if you make that noise, I’m going to scream. You’re not going to hurt me. _You’re not_.”

Thranduil shifted his knees further down the man’s arms, his legs utterly open with Bard’s head between them. The prince did his best to ignore it and ignore Bard’s resistance as he worked to undo the muzzle. As soon as it was off, Bard clamped his hands over Thranduil’s ears, but they did not serve well for their purpose. The blonde could still hear the hellish shrieking.

Thranduil screamed and felt the man shake beneath him, the sound shorting out for just a moment before returning. The prince screamed right in the brunette’s ear as loud as he could to disrupt the opposing frequencies. With a gasp from Bard, his noise ceased completely. He was breathing heavy, his cheek pressed into the dirt and eyes tightly shut. Thranduil moved slowly from him and placed his hand on his shoulder for…what for? Comfort? He wasn’t sure.

“Bard?” he asked softly.

“ _Why…did you do this to me?_ ” Bard questioned in reply and the prince’s heart sunk.

“I could not let you die. You do not want to.”

“I do…I do want to.”

“There is a part of you that does not want it.”

“It doesn’t… _matter_.” He choked out.

“It matters. That is why we have been brought together.”

“You’re pretty, but I can’t take much more of your vague talking.” He complained feebly.

“I do not think it’s vague; you’re tired.”

“I’m _dying_.” He practically wheezed and gave a hard cough. The elf traced his fingertip under the man’s mouth and felt warm liquid, as he predicted.

“Why will you not just use the heart as you need it?”

“I can’t,” _Cough_. “Can’t use one someone else took out, _those are the rules_.” He finished in a gasp.

“You need to…?”

“I don’t want to. I don’t want to anymore.” His voice carried a different quality, one of dry sorrow and self-loathing – one that Thranduil wanted to wipe away permanently. He suddenly understood things a lot better than before. There were _rules_ that he _didn’t want to follow anymore._

“How much longer?”

“I won’t see daylight.” _Cough, cough, cough_. _Groan_.

The prince turned his head to the sky and already saw the night beginning to brighten. He rose and blocked out the faint, beckoning calls of the man as he marched swiftly through the grasses to the riverside.

 

-

 

Thranduil was out of his mind. Despicable.

What an awful being he was when he wore such an enticing smile and wove charming tales that did their job and lured a drunken woman into his canoe. Her laughter had faded long ago, her bliss wearing as Thranduil pulled her further and further into the thick of the forest. She grew stiff even in her stupor. She knew just as well as he did that this was wrong.

 _If it was wrong, why was he doing it?_ A dark favor for someone he barely knew, someone who couldn’t stand the consequences of living, but wanted to live deep down inside nonetheless. If this was fate at work, it was mischievous.

Thranduil justified his actions, seeing in the light of Dale that the woman was old and not well, but part of him knew that he did not have the right to take what was left of her life, no matter her condition.

As the prince knew he was drawing near to the spot, he picked up his pace. When Bard’s silhouette came into view, he carefully leaned the woman in her stupor against a tree before tending to the man. His hazel eyes were closed, his heart beating dimly.

“Bard, wake up!” he demanded loudly.

He did not stir. Thranduil set his hands tentatively on the sides of the man’s face, feeling the hair there…what a new thing he’d never felt. It interested him. An urge to feel more of his skin flickered in him. He tapped Bard’s face, then slapped it. The man emitted a grunt and for some reason, the prince felt overjoyed that Bard lived.

He was clearly out of his mind.

Hazel and gold hues met the world again, and then they looked at Thranduil tiredly.

“I am dead.” He assumed and reached up, touching Thranduil’s face in return. The prince flinched and enlightenment painted the man’s features in the oncoming light of day. “If I were dead, I wouldn’t feel so,” _Cough_. “Horrid, and you wouldn’t…wouldn’t shudder.”

“I have brought you one.” The elf whispered and aided Bard to rise into a sitting position.

The man grabbed a tight hold of Thranduil’s arm as soon as he saw the woman swaying in the close distance and he took in a sharp breath accompanied by a whimpering sound of fright. His hold on the prince grew deadly as he rammed his head into him and grunted through his teeth. Thranduil grabbed his hand to pry it off, but before he could, it relaxed, both of their hands touching. Bard’s whole body fell at ease and a menacing sigh passed his lips.

The brunette lifted his head and Thranduil found his expression to be disturbingly serene. He nodded to the right and so the prince moved, standing and walking a few steps away. He stood near a tree, his fingers running over the bark anxiously as he watched the scene unfold.

Bard stayed in his upright stance and turned his head toward the woman who had not uttered so much as a syllable. There was a minute of silence before the man opened his mouth and Thranduil cringed. He stuffed his fingers deep in his ears to block out as much of the horrendous noise as he could. His eyes were set on the woman, and she seemed unfazed – no, not unfazed, but effected in a completely different way. Her posture changed and from what the prince could see, she grinned and said something. Her legs moved her forward and she walked languidly until she fell into Bard’s lap, her face dream-like. She curled a finger around a string of his hair and smiled away as his hand ploughed straight through her flesh.

Thranduil turned his head away and was thankful he couldn’t hear the sound of her carcass being torn through. He felt sick. _He_ had done this. He would not move a muscle, even after Bard’s noise had disappeared. He did not want to see anymore that could not be unseen.

It was a long time before the elf willed himself to shift so he could look with just the corners of his eyes. The woman’s body laid there open, bloodied, and motionless. There was still a smile plastered on her face.

Bard was wiping his mouth with what was left of his sleeve when he looked up and met Thranduil’s stunned gaze. He stood and glanced at what was left of the woman before setting his eyes, lively yet empty, on the prince.

“What have you done?” he spoke.

Thranduil pulled his hood up and started quickly toward the direction of the palace, but Bard stopped him with a strong hold on his arm. Thranduil halted willingly, for inside he was afraid to return home. Bard’s look was stern.

“Why have you done this?” he whispered.

“The sun is rising. I must leave.”

“Tell me why.”

“Another time.”

“Another time?”

“Stay here. I will come back tomorrow before sunset.”

“…I’ll be here, then.”

The man stroked the softness of Thranduil’s cheek with his thumb, but then stopped abruptly and wiped the streak of blood away with the only clean part of his hand left.

Forever marked. That is how Thranduil felt.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When hearts are concerned, Prince Thranduil of Mirkwood finds that his own may be in danger in more ways than one as he forms a deadly attachment to a creature he meets in the woods. There is more to the creature, Bard, than his aggressive nature and the prince puts everything on the line for him, but how can he trust someone that devours hearts to take care of his own? Is love really so blind to make someone fall so deeply in love that their own safety is no longer a thought and that their life becomes a dangerous web of lies?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Explicit sexual content ahead!
> 
> (Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, or any of its characters or content.)

The elf prince did not sleep that night. He attended his daily lessons and did nothing more than that. He did not even eat. The only thing he’d accomplished was lying to his father, telling him that the creature had perished within it’s cell.

Thranduil had effectively released a prisoner and helped said ex-prisoner kill a mortal woman in order for him to survive, all because Thranduil knew Bard did not want to die and he simply couldn’t let it happen. And he was going to _see him again_.

Screw compassion. This was why rulers were often stone cold, to avoid getting into this kind of dilemma. Compassion or not, perhaps Thranduil was just a fool – an impulsive fool with no sense at all and a lot of blood on his hands…realistically, it wasn’t all that much blood, but it certainly was a lot of guilt.

Who would he tell? Would he tell anyone? Why did he _need_ to tell anyone what happened? No one had to know…except his conscience would probably be the death of him. He pondered if he would rather die of guilt or live in shame for the rest of his immortal life.

Were things really so bad? Maybe not, but it seemed like it to the prince.

“You’re distracted,” Indilwen said from behind him and Thranduil shook his head as he kept his eyes on his canvas. His paint brush hovered just over it.

“Why must I make another painting?” he asked in a sigh, unimpressed with the trees he’d stroked out. The trees had another meaning now, one only known to him.

“You said just the other day that you enjoyed making paintings. I thought it would be something nice for you to do before your history lesson.”

“Shall I ever be free from lessons?”

“Well, history never stops. You know all the answers. Even if it is tedious, you know them. I know you do.”

“I’d like to stop now.” The prince decided, setting down his brush on the easel ledge and rising. “Is the tutor ready? We may as well just commence the lesson now.”

“Thranduil,” Indilwen said with an informed tone; she could see through him like a sheer curtain.  They’d been companions long enough, and now it showed even more now that she’d used his name as he preferred. That much brought a smile to his face. “Is something bothering you?”

“Something bothering me? I’m smiling, are I not?” the prince mused.

“You weren’t a moment ago…is this about that creature’s death?”

“About the creature, yes.” Thranduil said as not to make another lie. “Perhaps my father is right; I care too much. I see now why he reserves sentimentality.”

“I do not think it is wrong to feel such things, just do not let them be your downfall.”

But that was exactly what he was afraid of.

 

-

 

When the hour struck that he would finally be left alone for the remainder of the day, Thranduil gathered food and two canteens of water, packed them away in a satchel, and slipped away into the forest where he anticipated Bard to be expecting him. Perhaps he’d simply left Mirkwood’s bounds all together, but where else would he have gone?

The prince found himself walking fast to the place of last night’s events. Though it was dark at the time, he remembered where it had all happened. Trauma wouldn’t let him forget. He had never been the squeamish type, but this abnormal occurrence had rattled his core, planted itself in his brain, made him shiver when there was no breeze…

He reached the spot in which he’d last seen the heart-eating man and saw no mortal body and no Bard. Only blood.

At least he could hear birds again. Maybe Bard had gone after all – no, there were footsteps, ones too loud to be elven.

“That better not be a bag full of more of your ‘gifts’, Thranduil.” The somewhat familiar brunette’s voice rose, sounding more even than Thranduil had ever heard it.

The elf turned and their eyes met. Bard was leaned casually against a tree, his hands in his pockets, and his presence ever so calm. The daylight hours had not yet been completely swallowed by the oncoming night, giving the two sunbeams that properly lit their bodies and allowed them to take each other in fully. This was the most light Thranduil had ever seen Bard in, so it was easy to see now how beaten the man really looked.

A good portion of his face was colored with bruises and swollen with gashes, much like the rest of his body, so the Thranduil imagined; his clothes were ruined enough and didn’t leave much to the imagination, as far as wounds were concerned. The rest of his skin was patched with dirt and only a few spots were free and clean, true to what his skin really looked like. His bright eyes shone profoundly against the dirt, his contusions, and the genuine tan of his complexion.

Somehow through it all, he looked…nice? No, that wasn’t the right way to describe it…he was _handsome_ : his neck was thick, shirt cut low, jawline impeccable, eyes captivating…

Yes, that was it, handsome…but still, there was something Thranduil couldn’t quite define. He could easily recognize and appreciate the beauty of others, such as that his parents or Indilwen had, but this was different. Thinking about Bard’s attractiveness made him feel unbelievably flustered. It didn’t make any sense; then again, a lot of things didn’t make sense anymore.

“Gifts of a different kind, I assure you.” The prince answered and took the bag from his shoulder. Bard approached him and Thranduil held the bag out to him. “Keep it, bag and all. In it if food and water. I was not certain if you needed it or not, so I brought it anyway. If you need more I will deliver it to you.”

The man opened the bag curiously and started pawing through it, his brows raising high and his eyes glittering as much as his salivating mouth.

“This looks spectacular! You know, I was trying to catch fish from the river earlier with just a stick. Had no luck. I was beginning to think I’d starve _again_. This is wonderful.” He rambled and then looked up excitedly at Thranduil, who was taken aback by his enthusiasm and especially his beaming grin. That same grin calmed to a subtle smile. “Thank you.” He said with a nod and moved past Thranduil, sitting on the ground with his legs crossed as he started removing all the assorted foods the elf had packed. He had his fingers around a small bread loaf when he looked up at Thranduil expectantly. “Aren’t you going to join me?”

“If that’s an invitation, it would be rude of me to decline.” The prince replied and sat across from the brunette. He hadn’t eaten yet that day, so he was not opposed to food, though he promised himself to only have a bit of the share – it was meant for Bard who needed it and didn’t have constant access to it.

The blonde only pecked at a few things, while his counterpart ate a lot quickly. Thranduil observed him interestedly, never seeing someone put away so much food in such little time. It was almost amusing, but he kept his laughter to himself. They sat in silence (besides Bard’s noises of consumption) until the man finished and decided he’d open up a conversation.

“Well, start talking.” He said.

Thranduil merely looked at him with honest befuddlement.

“What is it I’m supposed to talk about?” he asked.

“I feel you know more about me than I do you, which I don’t like. I want you to share a bit about yourself.”

“I do not know very much about you at all.”

“And the same from me to you, but I’d say you still know more. Even if you don’t, you owe me an explanation.” The prince’s brows shot up in disbelief. _He_ owed _Bard_ an explanation? The brunette chuckled. “Don’t look so puzzled. You have done a lot for me…not all things I appreciate, but I’d still like to know why you did them.”

“What part of my help are you complaining about?” Thranduil asked as he ripped pieces of bread apart in slight frustration…more than slight frustration. He was offended, of course. Was Bard really so ungrateful and so blind to the risk Thranduil had put himself through?

“The part that involved me killing someone.” Bard answered blatantly, his tone even more offended than the elf’s.

_How dare he!_

“You admitted you did not want to die. Are you not at least somewhat glad?” Thranduil retorted with snobbishness surfacing in his voice.

“No, that would be selfish, and what you made me do was even more selfish!”

“I did not _make_ you do anything.” The elf said, controlling himself as not to allow his voice to rise to a level of anger.

“You dangled a piece of meat in front of a starving wolf. Do you think he will not take it, even if he feels guilty? It’s hunger that takes over and makes things like me do things we don’t want to…I could swear you’re trying to mess with me.”

“Not at all. I was just trying to-”

“Help, I know. All discrepancies aside, why’d you do it, hm?”

“First of all, I would like to open your eyes a little so you may realize it was no simple string of things I have done for you. Second, I did it because I wanted to and that’s all.”

“ _Is_ that all?”

“No, that isn’t all, but I cannot explain it to you. I cannot even explain it fully to myself.”

“So you’ve done all this outlandish things for a monster like me on a whim?”

“A whim that has stayed long in me, yes…I suppose we can call it a whim.”

“Do you do this for a lot of prisoners?” Bard did not get a response, but noted the tension in the air and the sour expression the elf held, so after a pause of quiet, he cleared his throat and straightened out his attitude. “Sorry. This just doesn’t really…make sense.”

“I am well aware.”

“Just understand I can’t exactly thank you.”

“I will understand, as long as you tell me everything.”

“You first.”

“You are the one asking for understanding.”

“But I asked for information first.”

They stared each other down, lips pursed, and eyes narrowed. Seconds ticked by with neither of them budging. Then minutes. It went on until the prince decided he would give in.

“There is not much to tell. I am an elf, you know that.” He spoke. “My name, Thranduil, means ‘vigorous spring’. I am an only child, skilled in academia, warriorship, and healing.”

“So which are you? An academic, a warrior, or a healer?” Bard laughed as he popped a grape into his mouth.

“I am all and none.”

Bard blinked at him.

“Are all elves so cryptic?”

“It’s not an encryption, it’s the truth.”

“How can you be all, but none at the same time?”

“Anyone of regal standing must be all things, but above all, their title…as far as leadership goes, at least.”

“Regal standing? You’re a lord?”

“No, a prince.” Bard’s face turned blank and Thranduil sighed, not even noticing the expression the other held. “It’s a complicated order. I am often torn between what I want to do, what I should do, what I should not do, what I should believe…my head has been nothing but fog since I reached my first adult age – even before that, actually.” He stopped himself, realizing how much was spilling out of him. Though it felt stupendous to get off of his chest, hearing his thoughts aloud were frightening. Seeing Bard’s face, he was even more unsteadied. “Why do you look at me that way?”

“You’re a _prince_?”

“Yes.”

“That’s…but why did you do it, then?!” Bard exclaimed as he stood. “You shouldn’t be here!”

“I recognize that, but something tells me I should be, so I am. Whether it is myself that tells me so or fate…I do not know. I _should_ think it’s fate and I do on some level, but I _want_ to believe it’s me. I want to be able to be in control of what happens in my life.”

“And this is what you do with it? Of course you’re in control!”

“But that’s not the way of thinking of the elves; the creator is in control.”

“Then you, my friend, have gone rogue.”

“Enough about me. Sit. It is your turn to share.”

“Nope, sorry. Our little chat is done with. You can keep the food.” The brunette said and stormed past the elf toward the river with a hastening pace.

“What? Wait!” Thranduil called and stood.

He jogged after Bard and just as he was within arm’s reach of him, the man spun around abruptly. The prince bumped into him so ungracefully that a red flare immediately blossomed over his cheeks and intensified as Bard gripped his arms to keep him balanced. Their gazes were level and Thranduil found that Bard’s was softer than he expected.

“Go now. I will not be responsible for another life ruined.”

“You are not,” the elf whispered back. He could conjure no more volume than that.

“If you get caught, things will be bad for you. You have broken _your own laws_ all because of a feeling!”

“A feeling?” the blonde asked in disbelief.

It had been real.

“I know that whatever it was, you felt it, but whatever it was is not worth what you could lose. Turn back, forget me, live your fantastic life! You are _lucky_. Do not throw away what you have for…for me.”

“I cannot let you go so easily.” Thranduil said resolutely. “I have come too far to turn away without answers. I told you things, now you tell me things.”

“Well that’s awfully vague; how about a question? I can answer a question. That’s fair, isn’t it?”

“Are you mortal?”

“Once. Not anymore. I am immortal, as long as I have what I need and I don’t get myself killed.”

“And what you need are hearts?”

“Not just hearts; _human_ hearts, which I must extract myself.”

“Part of the rules, yes, I remember. Who made the rules?”

“The woman my father left for my mother. She got angry that my father left her and took his love with him. He gave it to another, my mother, and so she cursed the embodiment of my parents’ love for each other.”

“It was you.”

Bard nodded.

“In a way I do to people what he did to her, I guess; ripped out her heart, you know. Poetic, dark magic. It’s even worse how I attract people; it’s a song of kind words, of promises, of dreams, but your ears are too keen to be tricked by my evil, so you instead hear…something awful.”

“That is the most tragic thing I have ever heard.” He breathed in awe and then realized how close they still stood and how Bard’s tender grip remained on him. Bard _smiled_.

“Do not shed sorrow for me. I hardly deserve pity.”

 “If you can only have human hearts that you take, why did you attack the elk and then me?”

“Desperation at its finest. I knew the elk would do me no good, but when I first saw you I thought you might be human. I am glad you weren’t…why are you so stiff? Should I let go now? You won’t fall?”

“Elves do not often fall.” Thranduil scoffed and pushed against Bard’s chest, but the man pulled him tighter with a smirk.

“I don’t know. I have never met another elf other than you, so I really cannot be sure if that’s true or not. I’d rather you be safe.” The prince’s face scrunched uncontrollably and his body tensed incredibly tight. His face felt hot and he had no idea what to do. He wanted this to be normal, for it actually felt nice to be held, but it just…wasn’t supposed to be normal. Not for him. “Are you really _that_ repulsed by me?” Bard chuckled.

“No, although a bath would not hurt you any. Elves do not…they are not…we do not _touch_ like this.”

“Really? Why?” the brunette asked, genuinely confused.

“Please let go.”

“Not until you tell me why.”

“I do not know why, that is just the way things are!” he blurted and was freed from Bard’s hold.

An awkward tension waved between them as the prince backed away and caught his breath. He felt nervous, overwhelmed…not like this was the worst of all elven standards he’d broken thus far, but it was still shocking.

“Are you alright? I didn’t know it would unsettle you…I’m sorry.” The man professed and reached out, but instead let his hand fall at his side. “That’s pretty unnatural, you know. There is nothing wrong with closeness.”

“I would like to believe that.” Thranduil said as he turned his back toward the brunette and fiddled with a piece of his hair, his heart still pounding hard.

“Is it so hard to believe things outside of the box you’ve been raised in?”

“Yes, it is. You do not understand.”

“I don’t, so let me. Tell me about it; all your weird elven ways.” A pause. “I won’t touch you again, I swear it – unless you permit me.”

Thranduil slowly faced the man and then gave a nod. He gestured for Bard to sit on the ground, and that is how the elf prince came to tell stories of elf culture to the heart-eating man. He gave his tales with passion and detail, painting every scene with his words without any hesitation. It all came naturally to him and Bard listened intently all the while with smiles flashing here and there, Thranduil’s love for his people and for the land were all crystal clear; despite that, as he recalled everything for the man who knew near nothing of elves, not everything he spoke of felt natural and he knew it. There were other things Thranduil thought about, questioned, wanted, and he let his doubt pour out of him.

“I should not bore you with my burdens,” he finished with a wave of his hand and as he looked to the sky, he realized how long he had been talking and stood promptly. “I should return now. I should not be gone so long. You should build a fire for yourself.”

“I will – you _must_ leave? I’ve enjoyed your stories.”

“I must. How long do you think the supplies shall last you?”

“I will need more tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“If that is what it takes to have you back, then yes. Tomorrow.”

 

-

 

Tomorrow upon tomorrows. Tomorrow was a promise Thranduil kept every day for a month, always visiting the man that waited for him in the woods and bringing more and more supplies with him each time; there was more food and water of course, but also blankets and pillows (which perhaps weren’t necessary) and fresh changes of clothes (nothing too refined, for they were bound to get dirty no matter what). He thought this may give him more days in between the next time he needed to come to the forest, but when Bard would say he was lonely without the prince and asked him to come again tomorrow, Thranduil always did.

They talked of the places Bard had been, the things Thranduil did every day, the rituals of men compared to that of elves. They spoke of families and it happened that the man was a descendant of Dale’s Girion, meaning he too was of royal lineage. Of course any life of that sort was long lost to Bard. Thranduil let it be known that he envied Bard’s life in a way, and the man laughed at him.

“ _Envy my life?_ ” the man practically wheezed. The elf blinked at him, startled by such an odd reaction. Bard waited to catch his breath and wipe his tears before speaking again. “Goodness – what happened today?”

“That was a very random change of topic.” Thranduil noted and Bard shrugged.

“I just figure if you would say something as crazy as that, something significant must have happened today that, you know, makes you want to change your life the way it is now.” He said and bent, picked up a flat pebble, and tossed it toward the rushing river where it bounced off of several rocks before plopping down under the water.

“My life will only change on its own according to-”

“According to the will of Ilúvatar and the Valar, yes.” The brunette sighed and rubbed another stone between his fingers. He eyed the prince and raised a brow as he caught his smile, grinning in return.

“You’ve been listening.”

“Of course I have, but that doesn’t mean I believe a word of it. I know you don’t always either. All that aside, what happened, hm?”

“I was told I would be giving a social reading.”

“Are you nervous to speak in front of others?”

“No, that is not what bothers me about the occasion, it is the purpose of the occasion that bothers me. I must give a poem before my parents, the council, and a selection of maidens handpicked by the council that I must aim to impress. If I deliver the poem correctly, I will have gained their adoration and marriage proposals will be soon to come. Whoever is interested by the poem will watch me spar to further assure their wanting me.” Bard grimaced notably and the elf chuckled. “I can relate to that expression.”

“You don’t want to do it?”

“Of course not. I do not wish to marry so soon after my coming of age.”

“Then don’t! And I know what you will say – don’t say it, but you’re the prince. You should have some say in what you do and do not do.”

“I picked the poem myself. It’s beautiful.” Thranduil spoke in a form of justifying the whole event he disagreed with and the man shot him a very skeptical look.

“Well, that’s something, I guess…let’s hear it.”

“I do not know all of it by memory yet.”

“What about by heart?” he asked, sitting cross-legged on the ground. The blonde remained standing – it was only right to stand if he would be reciting something, even for such a small audience.

“By heart?” Thranduil repeated. “Do ‘by memory’ and ‘by heart’ not have the same meaning?”

“No. If you know something by memory, you know the words. If you know something by heart, you know the meaning. You should speak from the heart if something is beautiful, no matter what the reason. It still deserves to be exhibited with finesse.”

“Oh…yes.” Thranduil agreed slowly, the fond warmth that had been stirring in him spreading from his chest to his cheeks. “I suppose I do not know it by memory or by heart just yet, then, but I can still try if you would like.”

“Don’t try too hard. Just let it come.”

Thranduil nodded and cleared his throat, fixed his posture, and took in a deep breath.

“In western lands beneath the sun in spring, flowers rise, the trees bud, waters run…and the merry little birds sing. There it is cloudless night and…shuddering beeches hold the starry host, the white jewels, on their branching hair. Here at my path's end I am lingering in deep darkness buried…mm…that is all I can recall at this time.”

“Hm.” Bard hummed, scratching at the hair under his chin. “The words are pretty. Will you be giving the poem in my speak?”

“No, in my own.”

“Do it again in your language.”

“But, you will not understand it.”

“Just do it, trust me.”

“Vi dýr ennui nu Anor Ned echuir lyth eriar I yrn ethuiwar, nin nurar Ar aew verin linnar. Ennas dû alfanui A ferin 'irith gerir I elenath, viriath fain, Vi finnel gelfib dîn. Sí na veth bâden im derel Vi dúath dofn tummen.”

At this, Bard’s lips formed a half smile, and though it was minimal, it was very bright.

“That was better.” He said with a nod.

“ _Better?_ ”

“You seem more comfortable using your language, but still, you are lacking. You need to dig deep!”

“I have taken plenty of poetry and literature lessons.”

“A teacher cannot teach you what _you_ see. Try again.”

Thranduil huffed, but delivered the piece of the poem he remembered over and over and over. In the end, he still needed far more practice and needed to do some “soul searching”, as Bard said, but the man’s smiles gave him a lot more courage and a little more sadness.

 

-

 

Today started differently than any other.

The prince was earlier than usual, for he was growing more eager to meet with his companion in the forest. The fact that Bard was so kind, fun, and pleasant to be around had soothed the elf’s ill feelings about how scandalous his actions were.

As Thranduil neared the man’s usual place of “residency”, he heard something strange that made him stop to listen. From what he could tell, what he was hearing were small sounds of strain and struggle, but they were unlike any sounds he’d ever heard – so unordinary. The first thing to hit him was confusion, then concern. The pace of his heart and his stride hastened, adrenaline running through his veins. He moved stealthily, for though his desire to rush forth was strong, the element of concealment would benefit him more if it happened that Bard was being attacked and needed Thranduil’s aid.

Had someone discovered Bard? Was he being attacked? What would Thranduil do? What would he do? He couldn’t fight one of his own, he just couldn’t! And then would his secret be revealed, shame bound to doom him?

As Bard came into view, the elf stopped immediately. He kept cover behind a tree, only peering around to spy and analyze the situation.

From what the prince could tell, the man was absolutely alone. But why then was he moaning in such a way? Was he hurt, or even sad?...No, neither of those things seemed right. Thranduil had regrettably heard those tragic noises of physical and emotional despair before and knew that the sound coming from Bard was derived from neither. The man seemed fine, leaned against a tree trunk, back arched, one hand in his hair and the other working steadily from his open trousers…

Thranduil tilted his head curiously as his attention diverted to the hand that moved with purpose and his blue eyes swelled larger than they ever had. What in Middle-Earth was Bard doing, _rubbing his cock through his palm, wrapping his fingers around it_?! And in such a place! The elf didn’t understand why he would be doing such a thing at all; he only knew that that part of the body was extremely private and not meant to be seen by any other than it’s owner and the owner’s mate, yet he couldn’t pull his attention away.

He shouldn’t be looking, he shouldn’t, but something about watching the odd, fluid movements stirred something in the prince and excited him, making his cheeks go pink and then deep red.

Thranduil thought at first he’d caught the brunette urinating, but that was clearly not the case. What Bard was doing seemed to bring him pleasure – yes, it was pleasure; the elf could tell that now by the combination of Bard’s elated tone of moaning and his awed expression.

It was all so _beautiful_ : how his hand tangled itself in his hair, the way his wanton sighs slid through his teeth biting down on his bottom lip, the sweet, dark blush spread across his skin, the slim arch of his back, the fervor in which he pumped his hand, flicked his wrist, and moved his fingers along his lovely length to bring himself satisfaction. And yes, it was _lovely_ : long, slender, and tan with full erectness and strong veins coursing through it…what strange thoughts to think about that part of another person’s body!

Unshakable warmth had spread all through Thranduil’s body as he stared and stared and _stared_ unnoticed. As his stomach tightened and his own member started hardening into an arousal, he was stunned, flustered, impatient, itching, urging.

The prince forced his attention away, spinning around quickly with his back on the tree trunk. His heart beat so robustly that his chest felt as if it were vibrating. His stomach jumped as a particularly strong grunt rose from the brunette and beckoned Thranduil to turn right back around.

Bard’s hand had left his hair and formed into a fist he was biting down on. His eyes were set on his cock as he stroked himself faster and faster. He hastily pushed up his shirt, revealing his flexing abdomen.

_Oh, that was lovely too, so lovely!_

Thranduil’s eyes trailed up to Bard’s gorgeous face and his skin burned with desire as the brunette’s mouth fell open and he choked out a loud, euphoric moan that made the prince shudder. He watched as a stream of pearly liquid sputtered out of Bard’s dick and onto his toned stomach. A relieved exhale passed the man’s lips and his body relaxed against the tree.

He stood breathing calmly for a few moments before pulling a cloth from his pockets and cleaning himself free of his expellings. He tucked his spent cock back inside of his trousers and laced them up. He was finished.

The elf secreted behind his tree again. His head was muddled.

He sat there a long time as he listened to Bard shuffling around until he’d finally calmed himself enough to creep out of his hiding place.

Today, like others, they spent exploring the forest and Thranduil spoke nothing of the scene he’d witnessed upon arriving. He did not have the heart to admit to spying on such a personal act, but it never left his mind as he pointed out which of the trees were oldest. identified plants specific to the land, and showed Bard which plants were good for eating, which were poisonous, and which were meant for healing. After the brunette joked he wanted a break from the lessons, they skirted the edge of a hot spring Thranduil had vowed to show Bard for him to bathe in. After a few moments of admiring the natural bath, the man finally plopped down on its edge, tore off his boots, and plunged his feet in.

“Ah, it feels so good!” Bard sighed.

“I have brought you soaps to wash with as I promised.”

“I’m not even sure when the last time I had a proper bath was. I’m going to dive right in!” he proclaimed and rose to start stripping off his layers. “Will you join me?”

“I will stay on the watch from here just in case.” Thranduil replied absently as his eyes clung to every inch of the man’s skin as it was slowly exposed.

“I will be quick then so you may have a turn and then I’ll take the watch.” Bard answered, unaware of how the elf prince gawked.

The idea made Thranduil vastly nervous: _the two of them nude in the water_.

“I have no need to soak. I have bathed already.”

By now the man’s chest was bare, his clothes nicely folded on the ground out of courtesy seeing as they’d been gifted to him, and his unlaced trousers hung loose around his hips. Thranduil wa completely awestruck by Bard’s top physique alone and he was about to see the rest of it. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

May the Valar have mercy on him.

“It’s not just for need, but for fun! It’s nice and relaxing – look!”

Bard’s finger pointed somewhere behind Thranduil, making the blonde spin in a defensive pose, swords exposed. A second later, there was a splash that sprayed onto the prince. Thranduil turned back around and rolled his eyes as the grinning brunette rose from beneath the water, beads hanging from his eyelashes.

“Wow. You’re so delicate, I sometimes forget you’re carrying such a heavy load.” Bard said, nodding to Thranduil’s fine blades that glistened in the sun. The prince simply tucked them away into their sheaths on his back.

“You tricked me.”

“I did, just to get you a little wet.” Bard said with a wink.

Thranduil didn’t quite get what the wink meant at first, but then he remembered the events he’d seen earlier that day and blushed at the thought that that could be what the man meant. No, not possible. He was just being cheeky.

“And I am not _delicate_.”

“Nothing wrong with delicacy. I didn’t mean you are fragile, only that you are…gentle? Gentle, connected to all things.” He said as he shook his wet hair away from his face and then patted it down with his hands.

How could such a small gesture be _so_ attractive?

“For someone who is immortal, you seem to think a lot like a mortal.” Thranduil said.

“You think that mortals indulge in themselves because they have short lives and want to make the best of it, but really, there’s nothing wrong with immortals doing the same. They just have _more_ time to enjoy life, so why not take advantage here and there? Life is not always about business, not even if you’re an elf or a prince.”

“Yes, so you have said before.”

“Will you at least dip your feet in?”

“Perhaps after you’re clean. Come and take these,” the blonde said as he pulled vials, wrapped bars of soap, and a hard and soft loofa from the bag slung over his shoulder. He knelt at the side of the spring, lining the fragrant items, and looked up as he noticed there was no swishing in the water. Bard just floated, staring. “Come.” Thranduil invited again with a wave of his hand.

“I will only take them if you bring them to me.” He responded with a smirk.

“Then I suppose you will just remain stinking like a mule’s back end.” Thranduil spoke with poise, but chuckled upon looking at Bard’s furrowed brows.

“I’ll only come because I like to see you smile.” Bard muttered put off, but he truly meant it. The subject of the elf’s happiness was a frequent topic; he was convinced Thranduil was unhappy and had made it his duty to always make the prince smile at least once. The man did not have to really try, for Thranduil found himself naturally succumbing to laughter and smiles and he enjoyed it – favored it. Part of the reason for it was because Bard had stopped clinging to his death wish (for some reason this brought Thranduil great relief), but otherwise…he wasn’t sure why he was so much more apt to share laughs and smiles while he was with Bard. He didn’t mind it.

Bard paddled over to the edge to meet the smiling prince and his eyes narrowed as he scanned each item.

“Mmm…” he hummed.

“Is something wrong?”

“Why are there so many?”

“They all have different scents.”

“So it doesn’t matter which I pick?”

“No.”

“Give me whatever you recommend.”

“Vanilla it is.”

Thranduil lifted the bottle straightaway and Bard scoffed a laugh.

“How can you tell them apart?” he questioned.

“Years of experience.”

“Is that what you do for fun; take care of your oh so pretty hair?”

“It is not particularly fun.” The elf shrugged. “I like healing. If I were not a prince, that is the path I would have cho-”

He stopped abruptly and the man looked at him curiously. Thranduil shook his head, trying to rid himself of his sudden feeling of discomfort.

“What’s wrong?” Bard asked softly.

“Nothing.”

“You are allowed to _choose_ things, Thranduil, no matter what all the other elves believe. Believe what _you_ _want_. I swear, your people’s way of living, its-”

“Here,” the blonde said dismissively as he handed over the vial. Bard sprinkled the cream into his palm and then began massaging it into his scalp. “I have brushes for you to use also, if you can get one through…I brought shears too.”

“Shears? What for?”

“In case there are any-”

“AGH!” Bard cried as his fingers ran back through his hair and suddenly were caught in a mess.

“…Knots.” Thranduil sighed. Shears would be needed. First, he would try a brush. “Hold still, turn around. I will brush gently to fix what I can while your hair is wet. I will cut as needed.”

“Alright.” The man grumbled, swishing the water as he turned around so the elf could groom him.

How bizarre.

The prince worked as lightly as possible, but it proved difficult, especially since the brunette was flailing and wincing constantly. Thranduil held is patience and salvaged much of the hair, even through the cutting (there were only a few _really_ bad spots that had to go). Bard returned to shampooing after with much gratitude, but was yelling about getting it in his eyes.

“Has it really been _so_ long since you’ve bathed?” Thranduil huffed and reached out, grabbing Bard by the arm and pulling him closer (since he’d drifted off). “I will do it.”

Bard was splashing water in his eyes and the elf lowered his fingers into the dark curls. Thranduil carefully and skillfully rubbed the shampoo in, molding Bard’s hair in his hands like clay. When he was finished, it would be a masterpiece. Thranduil had never touched anyone other than himself in this way, and so he wanted it to be good, _perfect_. He gave much attention to his task, his attention absorbed in feeling the brunette’s head.

His heart fluttered as Bard sighed and leaned his head back, enjoying the way Thranduil moved his fingertips over the roots. The sigh, it so resembled the way Bard moaned, and it sparked something in the elf that possessed him and put his soul into his fingers. The prince caressed the man’s head as if his life depended on it and as if this man wasn’t one that ate mortal hearts.

With every sound, Thranduil became more fired up. He was sure that this experience wasn’t the same as being touched in the private area, but to him, this was very close – the closest he’d ever been.

“Do you like the way I touch you?” the elf whispered, his tone unidentifiable to himself.

“It’s wonderful.” Bard replied, turning his head just so Thranduil could see his smile. “Can I rinse now?”

Thranduil moved his hands away. Bard was more than ready for a rinse, but the prince hadn’t wanted to stop.

Bard took the elf’s hands disappearing as a yes, submersing himself under water and running his hands smoothly through his tresses to rid his scalp of all the soap that had been ingrained into it. When his head rose again, he was still smiling. Thranduil had to smile too.

“Will you put your feet in now, at least?” he asked with big eyes. How devilish. Then he chuckled. “It’s not like you have been actively keeping an eye out anyway.” Damn him.

“Right. I should do so now.”

“Come on, we’re _fine_. Stop worrying so much, for once!”

“Just for a moment.” Thranduil said, finally giving in. Then Bard would leave him alone about it and they would soon be done with the springs.

The elf gingerly slid off his boots, placed them aside, rolled up his tight fitting trousers, and dipped his legs into the warmth of the spring.

“Ha, is all the hair you have on your head?” Bard mused and Thranduil shook his head.

“My hair is simply so light and fine you can barely see it.”

The prince jumped as Bard’s hands wrapped around his ankles, but before he could even move or question what was happening, he was pulled down straight into the water.

Thranduil rose quickly and spit out a great deal of water before parting the blonde, wet curtain over his face and glaring straight at his giggling companion. The prince wanted to yell about how he did not want to have to sneak back home wet, dripping, drenched, but Bard was suddenly so close to his face that he was rendered speechless.

“It’s been a month now…how much longer will you keep coming for our little meetings?” he asked.

“As long as you stay.” Thranduil managed; how, he had no clue.

“Then as long as I stay and as long as you come I will enforce fun. You need it.” The brunette declared and lifted Thranduil’s crown from his head, placing it outside the spring. “You do not always have to carry the weight of that crown and all it upholds.”

“You have not even…washed the…rest of you.” Finding words was becoming harder by the second.

“You can do that too, if you would so like.” Bard offered, moving even closer, and Thranduil blushed madly. “May I take your hand?” The prince nodded mutely. Bard did so, being permitted, and pressed Thranduil’s palm against his chest. He gently moved Thranduil forward, bringing him with his hand on the back of Thranduil’s elbow, and smiled very kindly. “You can remove your clothes. You may be more comfortable that way.”

May the Valar have mercy, Valar have mercy, Valar have _MERCY_.

“I think…I should…leave.” Thranduil said, the words only half willingly coming out of his mouth. Bard suddenly looked petrified.

“I didn’t mean to offend you, Thranduil.” The elf lifted himself from the water, the weight of his clothes now heavier than before, and swiped up his crown. “Wait – must you go now? You usually stay longer.”

“I am leaving.”

“Will you come back tomorrow?”

For once, Thranduil did not know. He did not want to lie, but he did not know what he wanted yet either. He said nothing more and sped back to the palace.

 

-

 

Thranduil’s mind was forever tainted by the events of that day. No matter what he did, he could not forget all that transpired. He was so overcome with emotion that he did not know what was happening anymore. His body was feeling things they’d never felt, his mind thinking things he’d never imagined. There was only so much change he could take on at once, and it was all coming on abruptly.

_“How much longer will you keep coming for our little meetings?”_

_“As long as you stay.”_

_“As long as you stay.”_

_“As long as you stay.”_

Clearly he was losing the last bit of sanity he had and handing it over to impulse.

How much longer would Bard stay; in other words, how much longer did Thranduil have to keep up the lie? And he had to – he took on a responsibility when he freed Bard, refused to back away from it when he had the chance, and he literally did not want to stop seeing the man. It was all very dangerous.

There would come a time where he would not be able to make a trip to the wood every day. Did Bard know so? Did he even intend on staying until that point? But what would Thranduil do if he didn’t?

 _What would he do?_ Why was that even a question of concern?

Thranduil laid curled up on his bed staring at the wall, thinking of all the thigs Bard ever said to him about belief, about fate and choice. All it did was bolster the feeling that he did not belong, that he was not a true elf.

Maybe it would turn out Bard would leave, offended by Thranduil’s dismissal…but that was unlikely and he knew it. He knew too much.

What was the man thinking when he’d pulled the elf into the water? What would have happened if Thranduil hadn’t left?

Ideas started swirling about in his head, treacherously pleasant ideas. As tantalizing scenes rolled through his mind, he felt very awake, yet very far away: Bard holding him up in the water, removing his clothes for him and discarding them like they were trash, skin touching, bodies shifting against each other, and Thranduil would make all of those sweet noises that Bard had as the man fondled him. When Bard had done it, it seemed so great, so unreachable…but it _was_ within reach.

Shyly, the prince let his hand wander under his night robes. He nervously let it rest at his hip until he gathered the courage to at least trace circles into it. That alone made him shiver and tingle. He did so very lightly in one spot until he felt comfortable enough to move the circles further and further down toward where his awakening member resided. He huffed to himself, frustrated at how incessantly his whole body trembled.

He brushed his wavering fingers against his length, gasped, and flinched away.

Thranduil took a moment to breath and then slid his hand down and formed his thumb and his pointer fingers around the base of his pink tipped cock. He traced his thumb up and down the back of it where there was a prominent vein. Each stroke became longer, his body rushing with hundreds and thousands of tingling feelings all over that pushed him further. Soon, each of his fingers were diligently sliding up and down his erection, once pale, but now flushed with color. It was an amazing sight.

The elf sighed dreamily into his pillows as the pace his hand took hastened – what an incredible feeling! He only wished that Bard were there with him. He kept the beautiful man vivid in his mind as he pumped himself to a breaking point: he lost all restraint, overwhelmed with pure pleasure, and let loose.

He let the cries of ecstasy come slipping out little by little, growing in their volume as the last of his walls came crashing down. Thranduil opened his robe fully and stripped it off, but left the silk laying under his bare body as he writhed and moaned on top of it.

_Why didn’t everyone do this all the time, he wondered?_

The thought only stayed for a split moment, for his mind quickly shifted back to Bard, the man in the woods with the beaming grin, the wholehearted laugh, the features that could kill, the body and a face that just gave more depth to the prince’s internal conflicts. No conflicts mattered now, just the beauty of Bard, the beauty of the world.

Thranduil’s breath hitched as he felt something, something coming. He thought of how drops of pearls had come spilling out of Bard, and at the very reminder, his eyes widened, fixated on the ceiling and his voice carried a loud, high moan through pretty pink lips. There was more swirling inside of him like a storm and he bit down on his pillow, grunting and huffing into it as a surge of power shocked him, jerking his hips and pushing out a final string of desperate whimpers as warmth from within him surfaced and drizzled over his hand and onto his stomach.

He was a flower bud finally blossomed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When hearts are concerned, Prince Thranduil of Mirkwood finds that his own may be in danger in more ways than one as he forms a deadly attachment to a creature he meets in the woods. There is more to the creature, Bard, than his aggressive nature and the prince puts everything on the line for him, but how can he trust someone that devours hearts to take care of his own? Is love really so blind to make someone fall so deeply in love that their own safety is no longer a thought and that their life becomes a dangerous web of lies?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I posted this time around, ao3 editing was acting super wacky, so apologies if the spacing looks funky - enjoy!
> 
> (Disclaimer: I do not own the Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, or any of its characters or content.)

There was sweetness in the air, far more prevalent than usual, alluding to something wonderful happening that day. All creatures of the woodland sounded joyful in their songs and communications, the stream water looked clearer, specs of gold floating in the sun’s rays.

  
Thranduil happily tread through the land, yet again off to visit his companion Bard. His ill feelings of yesterday’s events had vanished by morning, and the elf was feeling more sure and confident than ever with the bond he and Bard were forming.

  
Bard was an incredible storyteller; the prince could lay for hours and listen to him. He knew many things, had seen many, and had traveled farther than Thranduil knew he ever could. He was pleasant to watch as he spoke, creases moving in his handsome face as he recounted a lighter tale or told one of exciting dangers. Thranduil wished to trace his features as they moved with his finger to feel the emotion I him, to be even closer. Thranduil wanted to know everything Bard had to offer and everything about the man himself. Bard was foreign, exciting, intriguing. Truly, he was a mystery that only became clearer over time, but never revealed all of itself in full.

  
The elf was, admittedly, fascinated…infatuated…perhaps a tad obsessed – but what else did Thranduil have to look forward to in his days? Bard was a lovely distraction from Thranduil’s day to day, routine, immortal life. He could be prince forever, for all he knew, doomed to carry out near insignificant tasks for the rest of his days – even so, he would never wish death on his father, never ever.

  
In the forest, death was no worry and neither was the burdening thought of a boring life or one that could change dramatically with the loss of one great king. Thranduil and Bard shared the wood with its creatures, but that was it. There was nothing else in the world, not even the many places and people Bard spoke of in his stories.

  
What a special fortune Thranduil had been granted to have such a person come into his life and make him feel like he was young and new to the realm again. He was ready for nature to take its course and for the two to meld even further into each other.

  
The prince felt as if he were in a daze for the entire day, moving through his routines without many words, without much interest paid to his duties, until the time finally came.

  
Thranduil paused, first concerned by the unusual sound gracing his refined ears, but then relaxed: Bard was singing. How nice a voice he had! Soothing, soft, and lulling…perfect to carry a tune of elvish make. The idea was set: Thranduil would teach him one.

  
He sped up and Bard came into view just a mere few blinks later. Thranduil smiled upon seeing him, his chest swelling with warm enthusiasm.

  
Bard turned to face the prince, as if hearing or sensing his presence at his arrival. His lips formed a smile back, but they still moved to pass his song along into the air. What language the lyrics were and what they meant, Thranduil had no guess, but it didn’t matter. It still sounded pretty. He dared even say it was the most stirring thing he’d ever heard.

  
The brunette extended his arm and waved slowly, an invitation for Thranduil to come forward. The elf complied with no hesitation. He wanted to ask about the song, but as two arms folded around him, he saw no need for explanations just yet. He felt as if he melted under Bard’s touch, utterly relaxed. Warm fingertips drew circles into his cheeks and ever so lightly trailed down his neck.

  
Thranduil fell limp, only supported by Bard holding him. He felt pleasantly numb as he was enveloped in the pleasure of simple touch and ethereal song.

  
Their eyes sparkled at each other and Thranduil mustered a lazy smile before closing his eyes to immerse himself in complete bliss.

  
A shrieking, discordance rang in his ears and his eyes snapped open.

  
Something was _wrong_.

  
He tried to speak. His lips moved, but no sound would come. Bard looked unfazed, as if he hadn’t heard the alarming noise. A noise reminiscent of…

  
The elf’s body snapped back into attention and the song died. There was no petrifying tune; instead, there was a buzzing of frightened bird calls swarming the air.

  
A hand closed around his neck too tight to be just a threat. Bard’s grip was malicious with intent to kill.

  
He bashed Thranduil easily against the trunk of a tree and held him steady there with his one hand still grasping the pale throat of the elf prince. Thranduil kicked and clawed as he gasped over and over, each becoming shorter and more desperate. He tried not to drown in overwhelming fear. Surrounded by insanity in the form of sound, he couldn’t think. He had to hold onto “stay alive”.

  
Bard’s smile was no longer kind; it was a fiendish, hungering grin. He traced a nail down Thranduil’s clothing so sharp that it tore right through and exposed the blonde’s chest.

  
“ _Shhh_ ,” Bard hushed, tilting his head as he admired Thranduil’s struggling form. “This is what you wanted, Thranduil - _to be with me_.”

  
Thranduil would have screamed, were it not for the restriction around his throat, as unbearable agony infected his chest. He dared not look down. He felt something unearthly, something so terrifying that it could not be defined as pain.

  
It was betrayal, torture, _murder_.

  
Every hint light and sound vanished.

 

 -

 

Thranduil felt much like a ghost, or what he would imagine one to be; something plain that was in the wrong place and was constantly being pulled toward another place that was unreachable (at least at the time). He longed to be with Bard and as long as he had to wait, thoughts of the man were the only thing that prevailed through his haze. Yet at the same time, the image of the woods frightened him for the first time in his life. His nightmare had rattled his brain and reminded him what danger lurked in the man he called his companion.

  
Was Thranduil directly in danger? At knowing Bard could only be befitted from human hearts and only wanted such, he felt not, but now the visions he’d seen made him uncertain. They forced him to recall the time when Thranduil had been Bard’s prey, his captor, a stranger. All the while, the prince had been something the man cast his hunger on. Even though Thranduil’s heart would do nothing for him, the demonic curse over him had the power to back him go insane from bloodlust and attack anything in search of what he wanted…what he needed. That much was evident. Bard had said it himself: it was desperation.

  
Was Bard ever scared he would hurt him anymore, he wondered?

  
When was the next time he needed to feed?

 

Would Thranduil have to fight him again?

  
Would he be so lucky as to have another victory over the poor creature that was Bard?

  
But most importantly, was there a way to free Bard from his spell?

  
What a horrible predicament he was in…but Thranduil was determined to find a cure and put all of his and Bard’s worries to rest. It was important, vitally so, and for a reason that the elf didn’t exactly understand. He considered blaming compassion again, but he knew better. This was different than just compassion.

Indilwen had to keep pulling his head from the clouds so he could train and study properly with as much focus as possible.

  
Thranduil endured and brushed off Indilwen’s prodding with excuses wrapped around boredom and fatigue. She seemed unconvinced for sure, but there was no time for questioning just yet, for it was almost time for the prince to give his grand presentation before his parents, the Mirkwood council, and the elf maidens that eagerly awaited his appearance.

  
He was dressed in sparkling layers of deep purple with braids from small to large weaving all throughout his hair (which he tried to protest against, but he was unsuccessful). His polished fingers were suited with many rings, his head adorned with his noble crown, he was spritzed with fragrance, and finally, he was ready.

  
“You are so tense,” Indilwen noted as she straightened the collar of Thranduil’s robe.

  
“I suppose such things are normal in a time like this.” he drawled dryly, and she quirked a brow as she stepped back.

  
“You have been tense for some time, I have noticed…” She eyed him carefully. “Everything is in order; you look striking and your prose is bound to move souls. What else is there to fret about?”

  
“I do not want to marry any of these women, Indilwen. I am not ready, and even if I was, I would not want my mate to be a stranger.” He replied resolutely. He was sure of it, every word of it. He detested this whole mating ritual business.

  
“It is how your father and mother met and they love each other dearly.”

  
“They were lucky.”

  
“Perhaps you will be lucky too.”

  
The prince looked straight into his friend’s eyes and felt as if he could weep; he felt so distanced from her with all of the secrets he had piled up. He was being torn apart: he wanted to be close to her before his life would take such a drastic turn for what he presumed to be the worst, but he also wanted to leave his home all together and leave all confliction behind, but both desires were intangible. What he wished for most was for the world to stop spinning so rapidly around him. It was making him sick. The only times things were still was when he was with Bard, and now with Indilwen, but in the forest, he always had more freedom and lightness in his heart.

  
Something abruptly struck his stomach and shot up all the way into his throat as he considered the possibility that he had felt those things in the forest for the last time, that he had seen Bard for the last time. He had left him, left the forest, and now he was about to face a custom that would yank him back into his old life, whether he wanted it or not. How could he ever return to Bard after this day? What a fool he had been, all this time…

  
“I cannot run away, can I?” he spoke more to himself than to Indilwen, but she still responded with a sorrowful shake of her head.

  
“I would advise against running, my friend. Take the step, go give the poem, and everything that comes after that once it comes. Who knows? What is waiting for you out there may be something great.”

  
“Maybe.”

  
Thranduil could hardly believe even a maybe, but he went on anyway, plunging into whatever destiny had planned up for him.

  
He came to stand perfectly upright with his shoulder back and his chin high before his audience of elves all seated in a semi-circle formation. His eyes skimmed over his parents and a few members of the council, but he didn’t dare glance at the strange women there waiting to judge him and envision their wedding ceremony in their heads. He had to snap to, shake off his apprehensiveness, and remember what Bard told him about the poem: no matter what the reason was that the art was being given, it still deserved to be presented with its beauty, the beauty that Thranduil himself could see in it, for now the words of the poem meant something to him. It was a dream of two realities and his hope that the two would never truly be separated.

  
“In western lands beneath the sun in spring, flowers rise, the trees bud, waters run, and the merry little birds sing. There it is cloudless night and shuddering beeches hold the starry host, the white jewels, on their branching hair. Here at my path's end I am lingering in deep darkness buried. Beyond towers strong and high beyond all mountains steep, above all shadows rides the sun and stars always dwell,”

  
With his eyes above the small crowd, something had drawn Thranduil’s gaze away from his concentration. There was something moving in the far distance near the trees and his eyes widened as the shape revealed itself to be…

  
“I will not say 'the day is done', or to the stars 'farewell'...”

  
As he finished, there was applause, but his eyes stayed fixed away from the audience until he was approached directly by his mother who smiled at him radiantly. He just stared at her, the moment swirling around him with vast unimportance. All of his attention was centered on the shadow in the tree line. He was praying rapidly in his head that his mother could not hear how hard his heart was hammering. His anxiety was filling him with air and he felt like he would pop at any moment.

  
“Oh, Thranduil, my star, you have done so well! We could not be more proud.” She praised quietly in his ear and Oropher’s voice rose.

  
“A magnificent rendition of such a beloved poem. Shall we all proceed to the field for a display of Thranduil’s fighting skill?”

  
“A gathering in the hall first!” The prince said quickly, nodding toward the palace. “I will go and prepare for the demonstration while our guests indulge in refreshments, for I have quite the display to present to our guests and require a bit of preparation. I will send for the company once I am ready.”

  
Oropher paused, giving his son an inquisitive look, but he nodded in confirmation and then turned with a calm smile to herd the council and the women with their escorts off into the palace. Thranduil lingered behind and watched them as they all disappeared. Only when he was sure he was completely alone with no wandering eyes in sight did he dash for the woods.

  
He did not need to run deep, for Bard was very close – too close - just as he had seen. The brunette was very casually striding toward the prince with hands in his pockets and a smile stuck to his face. His pleasant expression flashed away, his face instantly puzzled as Thranduil grabbed him by the arms and shook him with infuriated panic in his eyes. His concern and a flicker of joy at seeing Bard again overpowered the fear he had of Bard haunting the back of his mind and the bottom of his heart.

  
“ _What are you doing?!_ ” the prince hissed so quietly it was barely a whisper.

  
The bastard staring at him had the gall to look innocent, fluttering his gorgeous eyelashes over those big, glittering eyes!

  
“I was worried after what happened with us yesterday. I had to come.” Bard replied simply.

  
“No, no you did not!” Thranduil said firmly, the level of his voice rising quickly with his anger. “Have you any idea how stupid this is, you coming so near to the palace?! You could have easily been caught by anyone that was not me!”

  
“I wouldn’t have outed you.”

  
“That’s not what matters!”

  
“I didn’t think you would be happy to see me, but I didn’t think you’d be _this_ upset with me.”

  
“We cannot have this conversation now. Go, and I will come later.”

  
“Was that the social reading you were doing?”

  
“Yes, now leave.”

  
“I am afraid to.”

  
Thranduil squinted his eyes at Bard, purely annoyed and confused as to why the man was still standing there talking instead of hightailing it back to his cozy and safe nest. Bard certainly didn’t look afraid and there was nothing dangerous in the forest that would even come close to his area, the prince was sure of it.

  
“I told you not to wander,” Thranduil said, assuming whatever had frightened him had been found by Bard’s own curiosity. “You do not know the land. What have you done? Roused a bear?”

  
The brunette looked at him with pure shock and offense, but after a moment of Thranduil impatiently staring at him, he nodded with a softened expression.

  
“I believe so. I cannot go back there yet. Is it possible I could stay here somewhere?”

  
“ _What?”_

 

 -

 

Thranduil was still fuming as he reached the open training field. He shed his outer robe and blew on the horn strapped to his belt. A small troupe of hand-men soon arrived, taking his outer robe and delivering him his pre-picked selection of weaponry. He fastened two swords onto his back and one to his side. He had the other weapons on their racks waiting on the field for when he chose to utilize them; it was important to show a grand range of impressive skills at such an event. Once his sparring partners were in place, he summoned his parents, the council, and the elf maidens.

  
A show it would be, indeed, and Thranduil was lucky he could act his way through it.

  
He put on a great, charming, and beautiful smile as he gave his display of physical talent, twirling and ducking with grace and moving his blades with precision, one opponent after another. He only broke a sweat over the horrible secret he was harboring. He was fearing he really was going insane with how avidly he committed treason and how easily he put up a front to keep it all hidden, but most of all how happy it made him deep down.

  
The prince bowed as they all applauded for him and soon his viewers dissipated. The elf maids were going to return home and within a few days there would be decorated letters from whichever of them expressed particular interest in the prince of Mirkwood and wanted to engage in marriage. He had hoped that once this part of the day came he would be able to breathe a bit easier, but that was not the case by any means.

  
He swept through the halls letting nothing sidetrack him from his target destination. He did not even pause as he reached his chamber room doors and merely barreled through them, closing and locking them promptly behind him.

 

“We leave when the night is darkest.” He said to the man sitting on the very edge of his bed. “I did not think you would be so foolish as to go around antagonizing bears!”

  
“Would you have come back to me if I had not come?” Bard asked, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

  
“I had not decided at the time you showed up. I had a lot of other things on my mind…there is no bear, is there?”

  
Bard shook his head mutely. “I was a bit put off that you thought I’d actually do something _so_ foolish. I’m sorry for the lie.”

  
“Why were you so concerned about my return?” the elf asked with a gentler voice and Bard shrugged, his eyes shifting around the room.

  
“I think I will be taking my leave from here soon and I didn’t want things to end like that between us.”

  
“Leaving?” Thranduil echoed. He moved away from the doorway and came to stand beside his companion, his features stuck in perplexity. A possessive fire flared in his core and flickered in his intense gaze. “Leaving where? You have nowhere to go.” His ice tone was lashing, but his spark of ire disappeared in an instant as Bard laid his hand over his own. He blushed, but did not pull his hands away. He felt no desire to. “Is it because you need another heart?...You can come back once you have found one.”

  
“I cannot come back here, Thranduil. I don’t know where I will go from this wonderful place, but I have to move on from here. All I know is I have to go, for both of our sakes. Besides, you cannot keep a commitment to me forever.” He said with a bitter half smile.

  
“But…fate has brought us together.”

  
“I thought you didn’t believe in all that?” Bard chuckled lightly.

  
“I believe in _this_.” Thranduil spoke, wrapping his fingers around Bard’s hand and bringing a crimson shade to the man’s cheeks.

  
“And what is _this?_ ”

  
“This is something special, no matter what my dreams may tell me.”

  
“Dreams?” the brunette asked with an instant quirk of his brow, and the prince’s face fell pale.

  
The dream was not something to be mentioned, he figured, but now it was too late to retract his words.

  
He was speechless, not wanting to reveal that he had such a dreadful vision of Bard, but his pause was enough for Bard to figure it out on his own. His expression said it all. He was disgusted, mortified, embarrassed, sullen, ashamed. As soon as the elf tried tightening his grip on the man’s hand, Bard slipped away from his touch entirely, stood, and pushed his hands back through his hair as he paced.

  
“Dreams…dreams, about me – nightmares, right? This is why I need to leave!”

  
Thranduil lunged forward and flung his arms around the man, taking Bard by surprise. There was a moment of stillness where neither of them moved for fear that the other would suddenly spring away, but neither of them did. Bard slowly let his hands fall around the prince’s slim back and their eyes met.

  
“You’re touching me.” Bard whispered in disbelief and Thranduil gave a nod.

  
“Yes…it means that I am not afraid and that when I said we have something special, I meant it. No dream shall hinder my thoughts of you, my feelings for you, and the connection we share.”

  
“I would not trade these days I’ve had with you for anything, except for your eternal happiness and well-being.” Thranduil’s heart raced at such words. “I think that this is special too, it all has been and it always will be.…but only if I go now and leave everything as it is. If fate brought us together once, it will again if…if we are meant to be friends.” The man said and moved away, but Thranduil advanced with haste.

  
“I do not want to be _friends_.”

The elf gently pushed Bard back onto the bed, and languorously folded into the brunette’s lap, his legs straddling the man as he took his seat. He lagged his fingers over Bard’s scarlet hued face and let his hand rest beneath his prickled jaw.

“Surely, we are more than that. I know it in my heart, I am the most certain I have ever been in my life that we are different, that I do not share such a bond with anyone else and that I must do anything I can to keep it. I do not want you to leave. I am the prince of this kingdom and I say you must stay.”

  
“Unfortunately, it’s not as simple as that…I see you’re… _comfortable_.” Bard said shifting slightly and swallowing with a face red from bashfulness.

  
“Orders are very simple, if you obey them. And I am quite comfortable. Are you not?”

  
“I wouldn’t say that exactly…surprised, that’s all. You’re awfully, um…close. Hugging is one thing, but this is another entirely, Thranduil. Do you…know what you’re doing?”

  
“Yes. Does that make you nervous?” Thranduil inquired, leaning his face in closer and making Bard back his head away to create space between them. It was amusing how timid the man seemed now that Thranduil was the one making implications. “Do _I_ make you nervous, Bard?”

  
“A-Always, yes.”

  
“Do not be shy now. The last time we were together you wanted me to remove my clothes.”

  
“I shouldn’t have said anything like that.”

  
“You would not like to see me unclothed then?”

  
“I…mm, uhm…I…well…”

  
“Tell me the truth. Please do not lie.” The prince said in a very sweet voice while batting his eyelashes and twisting one of Bard’s curls around his finger.

  
“I would…v-very much like to see that, but it would not be wise! Therefore I would reject the idea entirely.”

  
“I don’t understand.” Thranduil huffed, his quality of voice a mixture of pure confusion and irritation. Bard was talking circles, giving complex signals. He stood, crossing his arms over his chest, and Bard exhaled.

  
“Just because I want something, doesn’t mean I should act upon it.” Bard answered.

  
“You are contradicting yourself.” Thranduil snapped quickly. “That’s hypocrisy. You are always telling me to follow what I want, to make myself happy. Do not give such advice if you yourself do not follow it.”

  
“Thranduil, this is different.”

  
“What consequence does this hold?”

  
“More than you know and more than I’d like to explain. Can we just leave it at that?”

  
“These games do not amuse me.” Thranduil grated, gritting his teeth in aggravation and Bard gave him a sharp look as he stood.

  
“They aren’t games and aren’t meant to amuse you, _your highness_. You cannot just always simply have your way.”

 

“This isn’t about me having my way, and do not call me that!” Thranduil shouted and Bard furrowed his brows, raising his voice as he shot back a response.

  
“Then stop trying to assert your power over me!”'

  
“Then stop resisting!”

  
“Seriously?” Bard snorted and then ruffled his hands in his hair with a grunt. “I didn’t come here to fight, dammit! That’s the last thing I want!”

  
Both of them quieted, staring at one another until their expressions calmed and composed themselves from their anger.

  
“I cannot go with you.” Thranduil said hushedly. “If you leave…I will have nothing left.”

  
“If I stay, there will be nothing left of either of us. You don’t understand that this is not up for negotiation. I said I’m leaving and I am.”

  
Thranduil’s body hollowed and his heart drained of all feeling, empty inside. Bard felt distant, like a stranger all over again. He absently dragged himself to a chair and fell into it. He removed his crown from his head and traced his fingers over the smooth wood and its silver outlining, his vision clouding as his eyes welled up with tears.

  
“Why would you break my heart so suddenly like this, Bard?” he spoke, monotone, not taking his bleary eyes from his circlet. “Now our bliss is over, shattered. So rudely I’ve been awakened from this…ludicrous dream. You…meant something to me.”

  
“And I don’t anymore?”

  
Thranduil was refueling, hot fury coursing through his body at a rapid pace.

  
“I don’t want you to if you’re going to leave.” He said casting a glare on Bard’s sorrow-stricken face. “I’d be better off without the pain. I have never felt anything like this, and I don’t want it. And do not look so upset when you are the one who has done the hurting.”

  
“I don’t want it either,” Bard started, his voice broken. He quickly went to Thranduil’s feet, kneeling and gripping his hands tightly in his. The elf squeezed back. “I don’t _want_ to leave. I don’t want this for you, for _us_ …I never wanted this to happen. _This wasn’t supposed to happen._ ”

  
“I will protect you, but I cannot do that if you go beyond my bounds.” Thranduil spoke softly and caressed the man’s cheek with the back of his hand. “Stay, and I promise I will fix everything.”

  
“I don’t want you to fix things, because there is only one way, and I would never ever choose that way. I refuse to commit any more wretched acts for my own gain.”

  
“There must be another way.”

  
“Magic doesn’t usually have loopholes, from my experience.” Bard said with a bitter half smile and rubbed his thumbs over Thranduil’s hands.

  
The prince took quiet pause for a long moment, gazing at the fingers tracing circles into his hands sorrowfully until he gathered the strength to ask: “If you go…will you ever return?”

  
“I don’t know for sure.” Bard answered.

  
“I expected an answer like that.” Thranduil spoke, nodding to himself. He took a deep breath and as he looked into Bard’s eyes, it was even further confirmed that Bard was telling the truth. He did not want to leave. “What a terrible thing, for two people who want to be with each other to be forced apart.”

  
“One of the most terrible things I’ve ever lived through, and that’s saying something, but I don’t regret ever meeting you, you’re…so kind, so interesting, so…different. I wish…I wish a lot of things, Thranduil. Maybe too many things.” Bard sighed and his eyelashes fluttered as he looked away from the elf.

  
“We must have faith.” The elf said sternly and guided Bard’s head to face him, leading his jaw with his fingers gently. “I have seen you, a man, in many stages, this being the truest. I thank my intuition or whatever force that inclined me to help you.”

  
Bard shook his head with a smile, his eyes turning bleary with a shield of tears.

  
“Ah, stop all that. You’re going to make this harder than I’d like it to be, you know. You’ve turned me soft.”

  
“I do think you have been so all along.” Thranduil said, the both of them smiling at each other despite the sad nature of their meeting. “I will say this lastly, then: If I let you go, I must believe that fate will return you to me and that these won’t be my last words with you. The creator would not taunt me with something so wonderful and strong to deprive me of it and leave me to despair…unless it was to teach me a lesson. I don’t know what to believe in, but I must believe in something. I want to believe in _you_ , _Bard_.”

  
“I want to believe in me too.”

  
Thranduil stood and Bard rose with him, their hands still joined, both of them hesitant to ever let go. The prince stood very close to his treasured companion, so close that their chests touched, and Bard’s body was so warm and inviting…he felt safe, broken, tortured, dead, and alive, all at once. He wondered what this otherworldly sensation was and recalled so many stories he had read, tales of tragic love tearing people apart. Was this what love felt like? Was this love?

  
“I will believe…in _us_.” Thranduil said and slid his hand up Bard’s neck and rested it underneath his hair. He guided Bard’s head down closer to his and both of them caught their breath at the same moment before pressing their lips together.

  
A shock ran up Thranduil’s spine and he jolted, feeling sudden liveliness course through his entire body and radiate around him. Bard’s kiss was everything he wanted it to be and more: warm, soft lips with an ardent and urgent message that crashed into his own, which reciprocated the same zeal and sentiment. Sparks were flying every which way inside of him, all of his body buzzing just from one wonderful kiss.

 

Everything made sense now. Everything was complete. Everything was perfect.

  
The elf sighed most dreamily into the man’s mouth, almost a moan, and they both gripped each other passionately. Both were desperate to hold onto the moment, for when it was over, nothing would make sense, nothing would be complete, nothing would be perfect. Everything would fall apart. They only had this one moment.

  
One kiss had quickly turned into a stream of them, all wanton and voracious. Hurried inhales and gasps came in-between, only out of necessity.

  
Thranduil’s fingers massaged the nape of Bard’s neck, tangling themselves among dark curls. He took one hand away, caressing Bard from the top of his head over his ear, over his cheek, and down his jaw – he could feel every prick of hair, every curve and bone. Every sense was exponentially sharp; he smelt an intoxicating mixture of vanilla and pine deep in Bard’s skin, was tickled by Bard’s breath beating from his nose onto him, felt every crevasse on those sweet lips as they moved against his, heard and felt Bard’s heart pulsating with great vigor. Bard’s uncalculated, dancing fingers running up and down his back, gripping, holding, rubbing, and flicking at his hair was magnified to an intense level that made Thranduil yearn for more touch, more closeness.

  
“I wish I could study every part of you, ravish you with my hands, my eyes, every sense!” Thranduil gasped in a brief parting of lips.

  
“Thranduil, I – there are so many things I want to say to you, so many things I want to do!” Bard breathed in return.

 

Thranduil’s hands rested on Bard’s firm shoulders, and Bard’s hands moved to Thranduil’s face. The brunette smoothed his fingertips over the elf’s pale visage, savoring every pattern he traced into it. “So soft, so beautiful. Every part of your being is beautiful.” He let his hand drop to Thranduil’s neck and stroked it before setting his lips there, gifting Thranduil’s open, ivory neck with lavish kisses.

  
“Bard!!” Thranduil exclaimed, throwing his head back and tightening his hold on Bard’s shoulders involuntarily.

  
The brunette’s tongue felt even hotter than Thranduil’s skin, burning wet trails over the blonde’s skin that caused his member to twitch. Thranduil felt his cheeks blazing with blush, oh what euphoria he was in! His head was swimming, the thought of his clothes being too much of a restriction floating through. The prince sighed and moaned at the new pleasure.

  
“Will you kiss me everywhere like that, my bare skin?” Thranduil whispered in a most alluring tone, rousing another moan from Bard.

  
“If that’s your desire, I will, everywhere.” He answered back hushedly.

  
Thranduil stepped away from his companion, removing his opulent crown and jewels, stripping out of his outer layers of clothing, and then opening his tunic. One shoulder slipped down, exposing even more of the elf’s skin.

  
“Do you desire it?” he inquired.

  
“I do, _so much_ , I do.” Bard said, his lustful eyes watching Thranduil closely.

  
Bard approached him and with one hand took him strongly by the hip, and with the other he rubbed Thranduil’s naked shoulder tenderly as he trailed his tongue over the blonde’s throat. He swirled and flicked the tip of his tongue and followed such movements by closing his lips over the damp spot with a vigorous kiss. Thranduil, being so sensitive and green to such pleasures, was reeling, stars of blithe ecstasy sprinkling through his vision. He melted, falling nearly completely limp in his lover’s arms. Bard did not falter and held Thranduil with ease while never missing a beat with his care of Thranduil’s uncovered body.

  
The two turned as one and the prince was lowered down onto his bed. Thranduil’s hand fell lazily into Bard’s hair. The brunette’s hands moved smoothly down the prince’s chest and removed him of his tunic completely. With the garment now lying beneath the elf, the man took a moment to breath and drink in the lovely being beneath him: silken locks splayed out, eyes glazed with longing, body flushed with a healthy tint of pink.

  
“Do you like the way I look?” Thranduil asked, noticing how Bard stared.

  
“I love the way you look. I love everything, I _love_ …I love everything about you, Thranduil. Even your name is loaded with beauty.”

  
“You must take your shirt off for me, for I too love the way you look.”

  
Bard sat up and obeyed without qualm, removing his shirt and showing off the physique that Thranduil had swooned and ogled at before. The elf immediately sat up, his hands clinging to the man’s biceps and then his chest and abdomen. Bard shivered as Thranduil ghosted his hands in the crevasses between his muscles and absorbed his exquisiteness hungrily.

  
“Never have I yearned for something as I yearn for you, in every way, especially this way, _oh_ …” Thranduil sighed and nuzzled his face into the crook of Bard’s neck, taking in his scent and moving his hands up and down Bard’s chest over and over. “You are stunning. You make my mouth water with anticipation, I cannot bear it. I must see, smell, touch, _have_ all of you.”

  
“I cannot bear it either. Your words, they’re scorching me.”

  
“I can take the pain away, all of it.”

  
“I know you can.” Bard spoke, the mood shifting as he did so. His voice downcast, Thranduil took a puzzled pause and looked up at him.

 

They were struck with silence, the quietest either of them had ever been in their lives. They mirrored wide eyes at each other. Panic pierced through their private world – _a knocking on the door!_

  
“A moment!” Thranduil called, a commanding sharpness to his tone that made Bard jump with surprise.

  
They both sprung from the bed, the elf more hushed and graceful than his counterpart. Thranduil whipped his tunic off the bed and then waved for Bard to hide underneath it. The brunette swiftly dropped to the floor and did as he was told, only reaching back up to pull his own shirt out of sight.

  
“Who’s there?” Thranduil inquired through the doors as he closed up his tunic and hurriedly ran a brush through his hair.

  
“It’s Indilwen – I have some news for you.”

 

The elf took a deep breath that filled his chest and then exhaled, trying to ground himself before opening the door to stare in the face of his best friend while harboring his long-time secret in the same room they would be conversing in.

  
When he met her expression, she was smiling for an instant before she noticed him.

  
“Are you feeling ill? You look very flushed.” she commented.

  
“I don’t feel ill – perhaps it’s the lighting.” Except he was ill, indeed. Lying had become so easy to him, but now he was on the brink of being caught by Indilwen of all people and he was utterly nauseous, which was not familiar to him, making it all the more unpleasant. How far could he take his lies with her? Could he fight telling her the truth, his closest confidante who he had known and loved deeply for hundreds of years? He cherished her the most of anyone alongside his parents, all of which he’d betrayed.

  
One last time, he thought to himself. At least for now, because by the next morning Bard would be gone….Bard would be gone. Possibly forever.

  
His heart wailed.

  
She raised a brow at him.

  
“Are you certain? You look…”

  
“Disheveled?”

  
“A fitting word, yes.”

  
“I was about to change into something more comfortable for the rest of the evening. It did take some time to relieve my hair from its extravagant binding. What news do you have for me?”

  
“It looks like your wardrobe plans will be changing; your parents have surprised you with a grand feast and party, all of which will commence once you arrive downstairs. Everyone in the kingdom not on duty has been invited to join the festivities, and you have many guests from the realm here to celebrate with you and in your honor.” She spoke, her grin returning.

  
“I had no knowledge of this.” Thranduil replied, taken aback, and Indilwen laughed.

  
“Of course, that’s why it’s a _surprise!_ Also, I’m pretty certain your guests have come with gifts.”

  
“I am not even yet engaged.”

  
“Their generosity is in good spirit, especially that of the dwarves.”

  
“Dwarves? Where from?” At this, Indilwen smirked.

  
“Erebor, and they are very jovial and eager to see you, along with elf kin from near and far.”

  
“They came for me?”

  
“Yes. Are you so astounded? You’ve always made a good impression, even amongst the dwarves. I think it is your heart that draws them in. They can easily see kind intent in you, non-judgmental, just, pure, and strong. You will one day lead a new generation and they see a great future in your hands. You should recognize your greatness at times, my friend.”

  
“…I suppose I should get ready.”

  
“I will leave you to it.”

  
“Thank you, my friend. Thank you.” He said softly. She nodded gave a reassuring smile as she squeezed his shoulder lightly. He returned the gesture.

  
“I will tell them you will be there soon.”

  
She floated away down the hall and Thranduil closed the door, leaning against it with a weak, conflicted soul. Every fiber of his being was being torn apart.

  
Bard quietly shuffled out from under the bed and rose very slowly, making sure all was clear before fully revealing himself. He stood watching Thranduil be still by the door, unsure of what to do.

  
“Did something happen?” he asked hesitantly, knowing nothing of what had transpired in the elvish exchange. He slipped on his shirt and approached the prince carefully.

  
“There is a celebration being thrown for me. I am to appear. I have to get ready.” Thranduil responded flatly and went straight to his closets, fingering through his wardrobe.

  
“Well, that sounds like a good time.” Bard said with a cheery chuckle in his voice and Thranduil shook his head.

  
“I have not done anything significant to amass such a gathering – nothing good,” he spoke brokenly as he gazed at his fine clothing with guilt in his chest. The urge to weep threatened him, a thin glaze of tears blurring his vision. “If anything, I am a traitor and not someone who should be receiving honors and graces.”

  
“You deserve them all!” the man exclaimed and stood beside the elf as he kept his attention on choosing something to wear.

  
“You’re just trying to flatter me.” Thranduil sighed and rubbed his eyes.

  
“No, no. I think all of what you’ve done - it’s not traitorous, but revolutionary. I mean, what did I really do wrong?”

  
“Killed an animal in our territory and attacked me.”

 

“Well, yeah, but was it fair to give me a death sentence for that?”

  
“In our law and in our culture, the lives of the animals here are just as valuable as our own, so legally speaking from the way things are now, yes.”

  
“But you didn’t think that was right.”

  
“No.”

  
“And why not?”

  
“Because I could tell you were not villainous by your own intent. I was able to find out the truth; you’re a victim of an uncontrollable curse and it is hard to punish someone of that like. I would rather help someone in your position rather than send them to their deaths, if I can help it.”

  
“And that’s why you deserve all the praise in the world!” Bard insisted, and Thranduil faced him with skepticism and puzzlement painted on his face. “Before you say anything else, hear me out: You may have broken your own laws, but that’s because those laws aren’t always right. _Tradition_ isn’t always right, you know it, and you actually did something about it – that’s a really amazing thing for someone to do in this world, you have no idea! You were brave enough to do what was right, even though you had everything working against you…including me. You’ve really changed everything for me. I think you’re the right person to change the way things are here, to show the other elves that the ancient way isn’t always the best. Being royalty doesn’t have to be a prison, it can be liberating! For you and for so many others.”

  
The blonde’s expression softened, those words hitting him hard. A weight flew from his shoulders as those words settled in and everything clicked in his head.

  
“You’re right.”

  
“ _You’re_ right. It’s okay to have thoughts that are different than the normal, because sometimes the best ideas come from those thoughts. It’s okay to explores, to look at things from a new perspective, to try feeling things and dealing with things in unique ways. Show the elves that you don’t have to live in the past.”

  
“And if they do not favor those things? Then what?”

  
“With time and your air, I think they’ll make some room for alterations here and there.” Bard said with a shrug and a cheeky smirk, making Thranduil crack a smile that widened Bard’s grin even further.

  
“We’ll see what fate and my own hand will do.”

  
“Fate _and_ free will together? Hmm, maybe so. That’s a groundbreaking idea you’ve got there.” Bard teased and then poked his head into the closet. “Look at all of these clothes, wow.”

  
“This isn’t all of them, either.”

  
“Damn…hey! What about _this one?_ ” the man suggested, tugging on a light pink ensemble.

  
“Pink? I hardly ever wear it. I am not sure this color would be appropriate.”

  
“It’s just a color, of course it’s appropriate! Let’s take it out, see what you think.”

  
The elf pulled it out and examined it with uncertainty. Pink was a casual color for spring and summer, more commonly used to dress elflings in. Why he even had a pink outfit, he did not know, but it was there and Bard picked it. He smiled and gave an approving nod.

  
“Perhaps I’m destined to wear it. Yes, this will be suitable.”

  
He dressed down to his undergarments and stepped into his robe, fabric embellished with silver thread and small gems, sleeves long and billowing, drapes over the shoulders that brushed the floor, neck high and curved. Instead of an intricate hairstyle, Bard gave him two small braids behind his ears and the rest laid across his back, dangling at his hip. He donned his crown and was quite pleased with what he saw in the mirror, the man standing behind him included.

  
“You’re going to be one of those people that they speak of in legends, you know.” Bard said, his eyes falling over the prince with wonder.

  
“Thank you. Your optimism is uplifting. I’m not certain how long I’ll be away.”

  
“Don’t worry. Just go and try to have a good time.”

  
“You’ll be alright?”

  
“I hope so.” Bard smirked and Thranduil rolled his eyes. “I have something for you, before you go. I think now would be the best time.”

  
“Why not wait until later? I better go before someone else comes for me.”

  
“It’ll just take a moment.”

  
The brunette sunk his hand into his pocket and then presented his closed fist to the elf. Once open, it was revealed that in his hand was a jagged ring made entirely blue crystal. Thranduil instantly ogled at it, picking it up and analyzing it closely.

  
“Bard, this is beautiful. I have never seen anything like this. Where did you get this from?”

  
“I made it from crystal I found in the forest,” Bard started, blush tinting his face as he shifted his hips from side to side. “It wasn’t easy to make, and it isn’t finished. I wanted to smooth I out, but…I just thought you might be able to wear it tonight, if it fits. It may work better as a necklace, I’m not sure.”

  
Thranduil slid the ring onto one of his slim fingers and held his hand up to show Bard.

  
“A perfect fit.”

  
“It matches those incredible eyes of yours.”

  
The man kissed the elf’s hand and then pulled him in close. They held each other and stared into one another’s eyes deeply, neither of them wanting to be the first to break the contact. They were eventually pulled into a kiss by an invisible force wanting just one more embrace of lips before Thranduil left. It was amazing how much one kiss made Thranduil rethink everything about his life as a prince, an elf, a living being, but his heart was permanently in two, one part with his people and the other with Bard. Forever. He was sure of it.

  
The two separated regrettably, Bard stroking his thumb over Thranduil’s temple as the kiss was broken.

  
“Good luck. Goodbye, Thranduil.”

  
“Goodbye. Until later.”

  
“Until later.”

 

 -

 

The party was overwhelming. As soon as he appeared, there was a rush of music and cheers from a sea of guests far larger than he imagined. Every time he turned his head, someone new was standing there and started talking to him through the noise. Dancing was exhausting, a different partner always wanting his arm, for it was their last chance to dance with the beauteous prince Thranduil before he was to be engaged. Even dwarf women lined up to have their turn. He was sure to save a dance for his mother, who complimented him on his choice of wardrobe. She noticed his ring and Thranduil happily told her it was a gift from the forest.

  
Many elder figures approached him, handing him a glass of wine while giving him sage advice for married life and handling political affairs. He nodded his head along and gave his thanks, unable to get many words out himself before he was soon summoned elsewhere.

  
At dinner, his mother and father were seated at the head of the long table and he near them, but beside him was Thorin of Erebor and his family. King Thror had insisted that the two be seated next to each other, having met in the past and both being princes of great influence. The two didn’t speak much, not having any idea what to talk to each other about.

  
Opening gifts was daunting, seeing as there were so many of them. He had great piles of gems, stones, jewelry, clothing of all fashions and fabrics, books, scrolls, tapestries, trinkets, and art by the time he was finished, and those weren’t all of the presents. Apparently there were crates of food, shipments of ale and wine, and livestock that he hadn’t even seen yet.

  
The festivities went on and on hours into the night long after darkness fell. Most of the party had moved outdoors to twirl under the star filled sky and drink and sing around roaring flames. Thranduil stayed amongst them as long as he could stand, eager to return to his bedroom to spend his last moments with Bard before they were to sneak away and Thranduil would see him off. No matter how badly it would hurt, he would do it.

  
He reached his chambers with a sigh of relief, excited to be able to dress down into something more comfortable for the night. He opened the door slowly at first, sure not to alarm Bard, and looked inside. He blinked and then furrowed his brows. The lights were dim and the room was vacant.

  
“Bard?” Thranduil called as he closed the door.

  
Nothing.

  
He searched around the room, thinking he could be playing some sort of trick, but every space was void of him. Finally, he looked to the windows and noticed only one panel was out of place, open a sliver.

The prince tore through the palace with inconspicuous grace and agility, remaining unseen and unheard. He fled to the forest and to the place where they had always met. There was no trace of anyone ever being there.

  
Thranduil, in distress, scowered the dark woodland until he finally collapsed in hopelessness by the lakeside edge. He gripped at his chest, heavy and buzzing with pain, as he sobbed. His throat was raw from coarse cries. His hands were numb. Every part of him trembled. Breathing had never been so hard.

  
He looked at his reflection in the calm-moving water and felt like an outsider, away from his body and the real world around him. All he could identify himself as was confusion and aching sadness.

  
Bard was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued.


End file.
